Define Your Meaning of War
by VoicesOffCamera
Summary: [Prequel to Days Slide and the Years Go By] When the letter came in the mail addressed to the family of Sodapop Curtis six months after he had been drafted to fight in Vietnam Pony thought he knew exactly what was coming. However it didn't say what he thought it did. Soda had gone missing in action. Now they could just wait and wonder if they would ever see their brother again.
1. Chapter 1

_**Define Your Meaning of War**_

_**Author's Note**__: Okay! So since so many people liked my one shot _Days Slide and the Years Go By_ I decided to write a prequel. If you haven't read that one yet you shouldn't be missing anything since that takes place after this story. This story is going to be more like a series of one shots, snapshots of things that happened to lead up to that one shot rather than a continuous plot and will be updated a bit sporadically. It probably won't be terribly long either, maybe only five chapters or so, we'll see how it goes. Most of it will be based on real events that I either researched on the internet or saw in a documentary. I do not write this lightly because there are veterans who actually went through this kind of thing. This story will have a lot of angst and parts may be disturbing but there won't be anything too graphic. Anyway I hope you like it! Please don't forget to review! _

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**Chapter One**

_**Tulsa, Oklahoma **_

Ponyboy Curtis bounded up the front steps ducking out from the rain even though he was already soaked to the bone from having to walk all the way home. He was eager to share the good news he had gotten at school with Darry. Their lives had been pretty dismal for the last few months and Pony was hoping to lift the veil of depression that had been hanging over them, even if it was just for a short while.

"Darry!" he called, grinning as he walked in the door.

"Hey, can you grab the mail?" came Darry's voice from the kitchen.

Pony sighed as he turned and backtracked back out the door. He hastily grabbed the mail from box beside the door before returning inside. He kicked off his shoes and tossed his jacket aside before heading into the kitchen, the mail held loosely in his hand. He thoughtlessly tossed the pile on the kitchen table.

"How was school, kiddo?" Darry asked, glancing over at him from where he stood near the stove.

"Great!" Pony said. He swung his backpack off his shoulders and onto the chair in front of him and began digging through it. He quickly pulled out what he was looking for. "Remember that math test that I was crammin' all night for last week?"

"Yeah," Darry answered. He studied Pony. "You should go change kiddo, you're gonna catch a cold in those wet clothes."

"I will," Pony said, not concerned. He held the paper that he had dug out toward Darry. Obviously curious, Darry approached and took the paper, looking at it carefully. He smiled as he saw the big letter A written across the top.

"Congrats, Pony!" he said sincerely, even mustering up a little enthusiasm. "You worked hard for this."

Pony smiled back. "Thanks Darry," he said, feeling proud. The atmosphere around the Curtis house had been so despondent lately it was nice to finally have something to feel happy about, no matter how small the victory.

"Do you got much homework tonight?" Darry asked as he began absent-mindedly flipping through the mail on the table. "Maybe we could…" His voice trailed off mid-sentence. Suddenly he seemed particularly interested in a single letter he had pulled from the pile. He was quiet for several long moments, studying the envelope with a guarded look on his face.

"What is it?" Pony asked curiously, unable to read Darry's expression. "Is it a letter from Soda?"

Sodapop had been drafted about six months before, not long after he turned eighteen. Steve had gotten his draft letter just a few days later. They had left Tulsa together and it was a bit comforting for Darry, Pony and Two-Bit thinking that the two would be together over on the battlefield in order to watch each other's backs. But then they had been placed in separate units at basic training and hadn't seen each other since. After completing their basic training four months ago they had each been shipped out to the jungles of Vietnam. Pony and Darry had received quite a few letters from Soda while he was at basic but since he had been sent overseas they had only gotten a couple letters from him. It was understandable though. He was a bit preoccupied over there after all.

Darry slowly shook his head. Pony watched as he flipped the envelope over and tore it open. As Darry studied the letter Pony picked up the discarded envelope, too curious to wait for an explanation. It was addressed to the family of Sodapop Curtis. The return address referenced the United States Army. Pony felt his stomach drop to somewhere around his feet. He looked back up at Darry, desperate for some kind of sign that this wasn't what he thought it was.

Darry sat down heavily in the nearest chair and Pony followed his lead as he slowly lowered himself into the chair next to him, studying his face carefully. "Darry?" he said carefully. "What's it say? Is… is Soda…?" He couldn't complete his thought. It was too horrifying.

Darry finally looked up at him and Pony could see the pain behind his normally icy eyes. At that moment Pony felt like he might be violently ill as he thought he knew what was coming. But what Darry said next was not what he had been expecting. "It says that two weeks ago he went missing in action," he said grimly.

Pony just stared, not sure how to react to that statement. He had a hard time understanding what that really meant. There were several minutes of absolute silence as Pony tried to get his mind around this new development.

"So… he could still come back?" Pony finally said slowly, grasping at any kind of hope that he could.

Darry sighed heavily and looked at him. "They can't find him, Pony," he said slowly. "If the army can't find him out there… well that's not good."

"Yeah, but it doesn't mean that they won't find him, right?" Pony said, almost desperately. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes at the thought of Soda being alone and hurt somewhere in a jungle on the other side of the world. He didn't belong there. He belonged here with them. With his family.

"Oh Pony," Darry said sympathetically, reaching over and placing his hand on top of Pony's. "I don't want you gettin' your hopes up. It's been two weeks since he was last seen. Realistically…" He voice faded off and he seemed to rethink what he was going to say. He sighed. "I guess we'll have to wait and see."

"He… he just can't be gone," Pony said, tears suddenly streaking down his face. He refused to believe that he would never see Soda again. "He… he just can't!"

Darry moved his chair closer to Pony and wound his arm around him. Pony leaned into him for comfort as he allowed the tears to fall freely down his face. Ever since that draft letter had shown up at their house six months ago they all knew that there was a chance that Soda wouldn't make it back home, even though no one ever dared to mention that fact. Now it looked like it was next to impossible that Soda would make it home again. All they could do was wait and wonder if he would ever be found. That was almost more devastating than receiving a letter with the certainty of their brother's passing. Almost.

They sat quietly for a long time, neither of them saying anything. There wasn't anything to say. Nothing would make either of them feel any better right now.

XxXxX

_**Vietnam**_

_**One Week Earlier**_

Soda was scared. There weren't many times in his life when he could say that he was really and truly scared. He was scared after his parents passed away, afraid of being taken away from his brothers. He was scared when Ponyboy had disappeared for a week and they didn't know where he was or if he was okay. Right now though he was more scared than both of those times put together. He was terrified. He couldn't even wrap his head around what was really going on. How was this even happening right now?

It had been hard for him to leave his brothers when he had been drafted. He had never even left Oklahoma before let alone the country. Suddenly he was thrown into this war that he didn't even fully understand on the other side of the world. He had hoped that Steve might stay with him since he had also been drafted, but they were immediately separated when they arrived basic training and hadn't seen each other since.

Now he was in Vietnam, fighting for his life. He couldn't care less about whether they won or lost this war. All he wanted was to survive and make it back home in one piece.

It had been about six months since he had left home. It had been four months since he finished his basic training and was shipped overseas. Vietnam was chaos to say the least. Soda felt like he was doing well and holding his own for a while… and then there was the ambush. No one had seen it coming. They had been in the middle of the jungle when suddenly there was shouting and firing and no one was even really sure where the enemy was.

As Soda was still searching for the enemy suddenly there was an explosion. He was knocked off his feet and thrown across the field like a ragdoll. The next thing he knew he was laying on the ground on his back, blinking furiously to try and clear his vision. There was a loud ringing in his ears and he was disoriented. On a newly learned instinct he reached for his gun, but couldn't find it. Then he took inventory of his own injuries. Everything seemed to be intact. He must not have been too close to the explosion. Maybe he was going to be okay.

Suddenly there were men standing over him. As the ringing in his ears died down he was aware that they were yelling at him in a different language. All he could do was stare blankly. They were Vietnamese soldiers, the enemy. Then he was staring down the barrel of a gun pointed directly at his face. He swallowed hard as he kept perfectly still. Was this it? Was this the end? Was he about to die?

There was hesitation. The end did not come. It seemed there was a heated debate going on around him, but he didn't understand a word of it. He just lay there silently as the Vietnamese soldiers discussed his fate.

Eventually two of the soldiers reached down and hauled him to his feet. One of the soldiers was shouting in his face in what he presumed to be Vietnamese. Soda shook his head, unsure what was going on. He looked around. There were bodies littering the ground around him. American soldiers. Men from his unit. Men that he had known. After surveying the scene for a moment it became painfully clear that he was the only American soldier who hadn't either escaped or been killed. He was completely alone.

That was a week ago. Soda gathered that for whatever reason they had decided not to kill him. Not yet anyway. They had patted him down, stripping him of anything useful. Then his hands were tied tightly behind his back and they began walking, though Soda had no idea where they were going. They walked all day long and into the night for days at a time with hardly any stopping.

After two days of this Soda could feel his strength waning. They didn't give him any food and barely any water and he was starting to feel the effects of malnourishment. Not mention the sleep deprivation. He was too frightened to sleep even when they did stop for the night.

With his hands tied and his strength fading he would frequently stumble as they walked along. The first time he tripped and fell one of the soldiers grabbed him and shook him as he shouted. Soda wasn't sure what he had said; he was never sure what anyone said so he just kept his mouth shut. The next time he stumbled a sharp pain struck his back causing him to cry out. He wasn't even sure what they hit him with but he instantly understood that there would be consequences if he stumbled. He was dragged back to his feet and shoved roughly along.

From then on he only focused on his feet as he did his best to keep his balance. Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. However, as the days went on his body became weaker and his footing became harder and harder to control. Each time he fell he felt like the beatings got worse. They would whip him with bamboo rods, hit him and kick him repeatedly before dragging him back to his feet.

Around the fifth day it became too much for him. He tripped over a small root and his knees immediately buckled as he went down hard, his face hitting the dirt since he couldn't even try to catch himself with his hands tied behind his back. The familiar kicks and punches fell down on him but he couldn't even bring himself to try and defend himself so he just lay limp on the ground. As they pulled him back to his feet his legs just wouldn't hold him and he slumped over. They yelled at him, hit him some more but he had nothing left.

Finally they shoved him back down to the ground and he could hear them talking above him. He wondered vaguely if they might just kill him now that he couldn't walk. He was having a hard time seeing the downside of that scenario at this point. But then to his surprise the bonds around his wrists were suddenly cut. They had been bound for five days straight and as he went to move his arms from behind his back he found that it was much harder to move them than it should be.

Suddenly there was a bowl next to his face. Soda studied it, lifting his head with an effort and finding that there was a ball of rice in the bowl. He struggled to bring his arms forward and pulled the bowl closer to him. He hesitated for a moment, suddenly considering refusing the food. Maybe they would just leave him here. He couldn't keep going on like this. But then he thought of Ponyboy and Darry. When he left he promised that he'd do everything he could to come back to them. He couldn't just abandon them like that. Forcing his arms to cooperate he shoveled the rice into his mouth, mechanically swallowing.

As he finally finished the small portion of food he felt like his mind was at least a little clearer. He was roughly yanked back to his feet and he was able to stand somewhat steadily. They tied his hands in front of him this time, which made it a little easier for him to keep his balance, and he was able to stumble along with one of the soldiers holding onto his arm painfully tight to help keep him upright.

At the end of one week they arrived at the first prison camp that Soda would encounter. It wasn't much of a prison. At a glance it looked like a jumble of bamboo sticks. They walked through an opening in a makeshift fence and Soda thought he was going to be sick at the sight that he saw within.

There were a few dozen cages scattered around the open area all roughly made out of bamboo sticks that were tied together. The cages were squat and long, barely tall enough to a person to sit upright in but long enough for most to lay down it seemed. There were people in the cages, many of which looked to be in pretty bad shape. It struck Soda as some kind of sick and twisted zoo. The area was eerily quiet except for occasional coughs and moans from some of the captives and the groaning of the bamboo as weight was shifted.

Soda was shoved forward and he stumbled with hardly the energy to keep himself on his feet. They brought him to an empty cage and shoved him down to his knees, pointing to the opening of the cage and shouting. Soda knew there was no use resisting, he didn't have the energy to anyway, so he crawled inside the cage like an animal.

He had not originally noticed the wooden structure at one end of the cage and when his captors pointed at it and yelled something at him in Vietnamese his exhausted mind couldn't even begin to understand what he was supposed to do with it. He just stared blankly up at the soldiers and he could see them getting angrier and angrier at him for not understanding. He knew that there would be consequences for not doing what they wanted but he had no idea what they were saying to him. He felt helpless and lost but more than that he felt frustrated that he couldn't even understand what anyone was saying.

"I don't know what you what me to do!" Soda finally said with as much force as he could muster, which wasn't a lot. His voice was horse and weak from lack of use over the past week.

The soldiers began speaking louder and faster as if they could scare him into understanding a language he had never even heard before. Soda closed his eyes and put his hands that were still tied together over his head, wishing he could just disappear. How would he survive this if he couldn't even understand what anyone was saying to him?

"Your feet."

Soda's eyes shot open as he immediately whipped his head around as his heart jumped up into his throat at the sound of the voice. It was the first time he had heard any English since he had been captured a week ago. It was the man in the cage next to him who had spoken. He was Vietnamese and spoke with a thick accent, but it was still English. The man was pointing down at his own feet and Soda saw what he was trying to tell him. His feet were restrained by the wooden contraption. Soda put his feet through the two holes in the wood and then the soldiers reached in and clamped the top part down over his ankles and locked it in place uncomfortably tightly. Then the door was closed and tied shut and the soldiers turned and left.

Soda lay back on the uncomfortable bamboo grid, wincing as the wounds on his back made contact and took in a shuddering breath. How had this happened to him? What had he done to deserve this? All he wanted to do was go home. Would he even make it home? Or would he die here in this cage like an animal? He was overwhelmed by all these questions and despite his best efforts he felt tears welling up in his eyes, emotion threatening to overwhelm him.

It was hours later and night was beginning to fall. Guards had been regularly walking up and down between the cages since he had arrived and Soda hadn't dared to move an inch, afraid of any consequences. He already had large welts on his back from beatings earlier in the week and he wasn't looking to get any more. It was so difficult figuring out what he was supposed to do when most of the men around him didn't appear to speak any English. It made him feel so isolated and was a constant reminder of how far from home he really was.

Eventually Soda noticed that the guards weren't coming around as often anymore and seemed preoccupied with something happening on the other side of the fenced in area. He allowed himself to relax a fraction.

"You American?" came a whisper with a thick Vietnamese accent.

Soda turned his head so that he could see the Vietnamese man in the cage next to him, the one who had helped him before and he suspected that help had saved him from another beating. As he studied him he saw that the man did not appear to be in great shape. His clothing was torn and dirty, though Soda could still recognize the South Vietnamese military uniform. In the dark Soda could just barely make out the bruises on his face and dried blood on his wrists, which were not retrained and lay limply at his sides. He was lying flat on his back and looked so skinny and malnourished that he had the air of someone who couldn't stand up if his life depended on it.

Soda nodded vaguely. "Yeah, I'm American," he croaked, feeling his voice catch in his throat.

"Child?" the man asked quietly, looking at him critically and appearing to be a bit confused. Soda stared, not quite understanding the question. His mind felt sluggish. "You child?"

"I'm eighteen," Soda told him. He realized with a pang that he would turn nineteen in a month and wondered if he would last until his birthday. Would he stay alive long enough to turn nineteen? He tried to push that thought out of his head. It was a terrifying thought.

The man gave him a pitiful look. "You are child," he said quietly, almost gently like he felt sorry for him. He paused. "My son almost eighteen."

Soda glanced around before focusing back on the man next to him. "Are there other Americans here?" he asked. It was hard to tell in the dark, but he didn't recall seeing any when he had been brought in.

The man slowly shook his head. "I have seen none."

Soda felt even more lost at that moment. How had he ended up in this mess at just eighteen years old? He couldn't even buy beer back home without a fake ID. And yet here he was on the opposite side of the world, a prisoner for something he didn't even want to be a part of. Suddenly he felt like the child the man in the next cage saw him as.

The night was quickly getting colder. He couldn't move at all because of the restrains and his back was throbbing from the beatings he had already endured. He stared up at the sky above him, feeling hopeless. All he wanted to do was go home, crawl into bed next to Ponyboy and go to sleep. And in that moment he suddenly realized that he would probably never see Pony or Darry again. And they would probably never know what had happened to him.

And with that thought he finally let go. He didn't care that the man next to him was still watching him. He didn't care who saw or who heard him. He let go and he began to cry.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_**Tulsa, Oklahoma**_

Darry's alarm clock when off loudly, jerking him very suddenly from a restless sleep. He quickly reached over and hit the clock a little harder than necessary. He rolled over so his back was to the clock, considering for the briefest of moments to just going back to sleep. He knew that wasn't an option though. As much as he had wanted to lay around the house and mope for the past month he knew that it was better to drag himself to work every day. At least it kept him occupied. Plus he had to get Pony up for school. And if he started skipping work he wouldn't have much of an argument for Pony to be going to school every day. They had to keep going; despite everything they still had lives to live.

Slowly and with an effort he dragged himself out of bed. He shuffled out of his room and began heading for Pony's bedroom as usual, but stopped short. Pony's bedroom door was open a crack. That was odd. He usually closed it at night. Darry felt a little more awake and alert as he walked forward and pushed the door the rest of the way open. He took in the empty bed before he surveyed the rest of the room, finding no sign of his youngest brother. His stomach twisted up, not quite understanding what was going on. Where would Pony go this early in the morning?

Darry held his panic at bay – Pony was the only family he had left and the thought that something had happened to him in the night was just too much to bear –as he turned and moved through the rest of the house. There really wasn't any reason to believe that Pony hadn't gotten up already and was somewhere else in the house. His heart sank though as he checked the bathroom, the kitchen and the living room, finding each room as empty as the last.

Finally as a last ditch effort he went to the front door and opened it. He felt relief wash over him as he saw the familiar figure sitting on the steps of the porch, still in his pajamas with a half-smoked cigarette held loosely in his hand as he stared vacantly straight ahead.

"Jesus, Pony, you scared the hell out of me," Darry said with a sigh as he moved out onto the porch, letting the door slam behind him.

Pony glanced back behind him briefly before turning back toward the street. The sunlight was just beginning to peak over the rooftops. "Sorry Darry," he said flatly. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Pony had been pretty subdued for the past month ever since they had received that letter. Darry certainly couldn't blame the poor kid. He knew how much Soda meant to him. Darry moved forward, intending to sit next to him when he saw the pile of cigarette butts lying beside him. He carefully swept the pile to the side, though not before counting four butts. Apparently Pony was on his fifth cigarette at six in the morning. Darry sat down on the step next to him, looking at Pony with concern.

"How long you been up, kiddo?" he asked slowly.

Pony shrugged. "Couple hours I guess," he said.

"Couldn't sleep?" Darry asked. Pony simply shook his head, taking a drag off his cigarette. Darry found this behavior especially odd. Sure, they had both been pretty torn up for the past month, but all of a sudden Pony seemed so much worse off and he couldn't understand what had changed since just yesterday. "What's wrong, Pony?" he asked carefully.

"Everythin'," Pony said dully, almost to himself. "Ain't nothin' been right in a month."

"I know," Darry said sympathetically. "Just seems like you're especially bothered by somethin' this morning."

Pony finally turned and looked at him, and as he did Darry could see that Pony's eyes were red and there were damp streaks running down his cheeks. He had been crying. "It's October, Darry," Pony said softly. Darry just looked at him, not quite understanding. Or maybe deep down he just didn't want to understand. "It's October 8th."

Then it clicked. Darry felt his heart give a twist. "Oh," he said quietly.

Pony studied his face, a hint of disbelief in his features. "You didn't know?" he asked, surprise in his tone.

"I guess I just tried not to think about it," Darry admitted, running a hand through his hair.

Today was Sodapop's nineteenth birthday. Darry would never forget his younger brother's birthday, but given the circumstances whenever the thought had crossed his mind over the past month he had stubbornly pushed it away. They had all known when Soda had gotten his draft letter that he wouldn't be home for his birthday. He wasn't due back from service until March. Before about a month ago Darry had figured they could send Soda a card for his birthday, maybe even have a small celebration for him at home just with the three Greasers that were left. That was before though. Before they knew that he was missing in action. Now there wasn't a place to mail a birthday card. Now they weren't even sure if there was a reason to celebrate or if they should be mourning instead.

"I couldn't stop thinkin' about it," Pony said quietly, looking down at the ground. "He's nineteen today… and we don't even know where he is or if he's okay."

"Yeah," Darry said sadly. Soda had been his responsibility for so long he couldn't help but feel that somehow he was still responsible for him even though he was half way around the world. Like somehow if Soda didn't come home it would be his fault. And he hated feeling so helpless. He hadn't slept through the night since they had received that letter. He lay awake many nights tossing and turning as he wondered if his little brother was still alive somewhere somehow.

"I really hoped that we'd hear somethin' by now," Pony went on, despair in his voice. "Anythin'. One way or another, you know? I hate wonderin'…"

"I do too kiddo," Darry told him gently.

They lapsed into silence for a while. Darry only realized that time was still passing when he saw Two-Bit's old junker rumbling up the street. Neither of them moved as Two-Bit parked on the curb and climbed out. His usual carefree and goofy expression was dulled as he made his way up the walk. He had taken the news of Soda's disappearance as hard as Darry and Pony had. And by the look on his face it was clear he knew what day this was.

Two-Bit eyed the two of them before leaning up against the porch and pulling out his pack of Kools. "No school today?" he asked, obviously noticing how Pony and Darry were both still in their pajamas. He lit up a cigarette.

Darry sighed. He felt like it would be cruel to make Pony go to school today. But at the same time would it be any better to have him sit at home all day and mope?

"What do you think, Pony?" Darry asked, looking at him.

"It's not like I'll be focused enough to learn anythin' today," Pony pointed out.

Darry nodded. "Just today though, alright kiddo?"

"Yeah, okay," Pony agreed. He paused. "What about you?"

"What about me?" Darry asked.

Pony hesitated. "Will you stay home too?"

Darry thought it over for a minute. Then he gave Pony a strained smile. "Yeah, I'll stay home too," he agreed. He turned to look at Two-Bit. "Two-Bit? How about a ditch day?"

Two-Bit cracked a grin. "I guess school can get along without me for a day."

It felt right that they be together for Soda's birthday. Even if they weren't completely sure that Soda was still out there, his birthday still meant something. It meant that he had been here; he was born and was with them for eighteen years. Just because he was missing didn't mean that he ceased to exist. Now they could only hope that by some miracle he would find a way to make it home again.

XxXxX

_**Vietnam**_

It was hard to keep track of the days anymore, but Soda was pretty sure it had been around four weeks since he had been captured. Which meant he had been in this bamboo cage for three weeks. The prisoners were usually let out once a day to use the bathroom, though the term "bath_room_" was used very loosely. It wasn't an actual room, but simply a far corner of the fenced in area where everyone relieved themselves. Just another way the guards made the prisoners feel like less than human. And the smell was awful to say the least.

Soda was pretty weakened when he had arrived at the prison camp from malnourishment combined with the amount of traveling he had done just to get there. But he quickly found out that he was in very good shape compared to many of the other prisoners. Many men couldn't even make it all the way to the specified corner to relieve themselves.

The man in the cage next to him was named Bao. None of the guards appeared to speak any English though a few of the other prisoners spoke some broken English, but Bao seemed the only one that spoke relatively fluently. He quickly fell into the role of Soda's interpreter, telling him what the guards wanted from him. Soda would be eternally grateful to this man. He wasn't sure if he would have survived the camp without knowing what anyone was saying to him. The guards didn't have much patience and Soda quickly found out within the first couple days that anyone who couldn't move quickly enough was likely to get a severe beating.

Bao was among those who couldn't move very quickly, which explained all his fresh cuts and bruises. Soda found out that he had been shot in the leg right before he had been captured and the wound was now severely infected and clearly there was no medical treatment for any of the prisoners. Soda would let Boa lean on him when they were let out of their cages and it seemed that that was the only reason that he was able to make the trip.

One day Soda noticed the guards moving around the camp, looking into cages and only taking certain prisoners out. As Soda watched wearily from where he lay in his cage, he got a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had never seen anyone leave a cage except for the daily bathroom trip. And this definitely wasn't a bathroom trip. The prisoners were taken in the opposite direction in which they usually went, and only certain prisoners were taken.

As the guards came closer and closer to where he lay he found himself praying that they would pass right by him. No such luck though. As they approached one of the guards pointed right at him while yelling something in Vietnamese. As they began untying the door of his cage Soda desperately looked over to Bao, hoping for some indication as to what was going on. Bao was silent, though his expression was one of despair.

"What's happening?" Soda hissed, a hint of panic in his voice.

"You be okay," Boa said quietly, but his voice shook.

This did nothing to comfort him. As the guards began dragging him out of the cage he began to panic, his heart pounding in his chest. "What's happening?" he asked again, this time the panic was clear is his voice.

Bao was silent as he watched the guards drag Soda away, a grim look on his face. Soda struggled, afraid of what was coming. For just a second it felt like he might actually break free. Then one of the guards hit him between his shoulders with the butt of his rifle. Soda yelped as he fell to his knees before roughly being pulled back up to his feet. He felt a little stunned as they marched him along.

Soda was placed up against the fence in a line along with about a dozen other South Vietnamese prisoners, all looking terrified and a few even outwardly crying. As Soda's hands were tied tightly behind his back he found that he was gasping for breath, on the verge of a panic attack. The guards were lined up directly across from the prisoners. An order was shouted and all at once the guards raised their rifles and pointed them at the line of prisoners.

Soda swallowed hard as he felt his whole body go cold. This was it. He was about to die. He had made it to almost nineteen years old only to be killed in a foreign country for a cause he didn't even believe in. Pony and Darry would probably never even know what happened to him. He would simply be gone. Forever.

_I'm so sorry, Ponyboy. I'm so sorry, Darry. _Soda thought to himself, holding his tears at bay as he hoped to leave this world with some semblance of at least a little dignity. _I never wanted to leave you guys. Least of all like this. I love you._

Soda held his breath and every muscle in his body was tense as he tried in vain to prepare himself for the unknown and prayed that it would at least be quick. A sharp order was shouted and Soda tensed even more and instinctively flinched. But all he heard were clicking noises. A minute later there was laughter. The guards were laughing at the prisoners. As he realized what had happened Soda sharply let out the breath he had been holding as his knees gave out and he collapsed to the ground, vaguely aware of other prisoners in the line doing the same. It was a trick. A cruel trick. They weren't going to kill them. They were simply playing a game. The guns hadn't even been loaded.

Soda was hardly aware as two guards grabbed him by the upper arms and dragged him back to his feet. Soda did his best to stumble along. He used any willpower he had left to hold himself together, not wanting to give the guards any more satisfaction that they had gotten to him.

Back in the confines of his cage Soda found that he was still shaking. All he wanted to do was curl up into a ball for some sense of security, but he couldn't even do that because of how his ankles were restrained in the wooden contraption at one end of the cage. It took several hours for him to feel like he was finally beginning to calm down from the ordeal. Boa and he never dared to speak until after dark when the guards would lose interest in patrolling between the cages. After nightfall Soda looked over at Bao.

"What were they sayin'?" he asked softly. "When they took me out of the cage. What did they say?"

"Execute," Boa said quietly. "They said they would execute." He paused, looking at him sympathetically. "I glad they did not."

Soda sighed. "Yeah… me too." He still felt shaken when he thought about it. He couldn't imagine a worse hell than this. And he couldn't help but feel like this would only get worse. Only a month had passed so far. How long could he really endure this kind of torture?

Soda was drifting in and out of consciousness that night, too shaken to sleep soundly. Not that he really ever slept soundly anyway. But unbeknownst to him, he had hit a milestone. Today he was nineteen years old. It would be several more weeks before he would realize that he was a year older. Days blended together and keeping track what day it was just didn't seem very important anymore. The only important thing anymore was just trying to survive this hell.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Hey guys! So here we go, next chapter. I wasn't planning of being this consistent with the updates for this story, but hey I'm as hooked as you are! This chapter is all Soda; the next one will switch back to the gang, Pony, Darry, Two-Bit and even Steve will finally show up. Keep in mind this story is meant to be a series more of one shots rather than a continuous plot, just glimpses into what went on during the time that Soda was MIA. Don't forget to review!

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**Chapter Three**

_**Vietnam**_

Soda had been held in captivity for four months. Four very, very long months of nothing but lying in his bamboo cage while his strength and health deteriorated. His hygiene had gone downhill very quickly and he felt disgusting, which led to frequent sicknesses as it did with many of the other prisoners. The prisoners were fed very minimally and Soda could feel the way that his clothes hung off him in a way that they didn't before he had been captured.

Three months in Soda had gotten very, very sick. He would later learn that he had had an illness called dysentery that could have developed from any number of infections he had gotten from the unsanitary conditions he was forced to live in. In addition to the symptoms of vomiting and diarrhea making his cage even less sanitary than usual, his fever had quickly skyrocketed, causing delirium. He frequently imagined that he was back home with Darry and Pony, safe in his own bed. Sometimes his mom and dad would be there too. Other times his delusions would turn into nightmares of torture, pain and death. So many times he just wanted to give up and just let himself die but at the urging of Bao and with the insistence of taking some of his portioned water and food rations, Soda's body somehow found the will to begin to recover even without medical care.

Soda was still weak from illness and malnourishment when it was announced to the camp that all the prisoners were being transferred to a different prison camp. The guards informed them that they would be traveling on foot and it would take about a week to arrive. They were also assured that this new camp would have medical care available as well as better conditions for the prisoners. Soda felt skeptical about the whole thing, mostly because many of the prisoners could barely make it across the camp to go to the bathroom, but it wasn't like they had any choice in the matter.

The morning that they left the camp all the prisoners were restrained by thick ropes tied tightly around their wrists and then the ends were tied to each other so that they were restrained to each other in a lone line. Several of the prisoners couldn't even make it out of their cages and as the group walked away into the jungle gunshots could be heard. Clearly the guards were completely vacating the camp and weren't interested in leaving any live prisoners behind. Little did any of them know the reason that they were vacating the camp so suddenly was because American forces were getting too close to it. Only two days after they left an American company came across that very camp empty of all but the bodies of prisoners left behind.

The system of tying the prisoners together while they travelled didn't last long. Everyone was so weak from malnourishment that they would frequently trip and fall, taking others down with them and causing a long delay as they all had to get themselves situated again. It would have been comical if they all hadn't been so pathetic-looking. At one point the prisoner directly behind Soda fell down and he was unexpectedly yanked to the ground with him. When he pulled back to his feet by the guards he found that he had twisted his ankle and had to limp along. After four days of this the guards did away with the idea to tie the prisoners together. A few prisoners tried to make breaks for it after this, and were immediately shot. They were all too weak to make it far.

Their numbers dwindled as the days went on and not just because of runners. If any of the prisoners were too sick or injured to go on, one guard would stay back with them as the rest walked on. They were all able to hear the gunshot. About thirty prisoners had left the prison camp. Little did any of them know at the time, but by the time this journey was over that number would be cut in half.

Despite his own injury, soon Soda was supporting Bao in order to help him walk along. The infection in his leg had seemed to get better for a while and Soda was surprised with how well he held up on his own through the first few days. But all this walking on it seemed to be making it worse again. And Soda and Bao weren't the only ones dependent on each other. The prisoners had all bonded together and helped each other as much as they could.

A week went by and without comment the guards led them farther along. Soda figured that they were probably moving a lot slower than expected so it was going to take longer than the guards had originally figured. Then two weeks passed and they kept walking. Then three weeks. Finally Soda figured out how much the guards had downplayed the distance they were actually going to travel probably in an attempt to make the prisoners go more willingly.

The prisoners were gathered together one night after they had been traveling for about a month. It was dark and they had stopped for the night. The prisoners were all sprawled out in the dirt while the guards were a few feet away talking amongst themselves. They forbid talking among the prisoners, but they had all found they were less vigilant about it at this time of the day, so they were able to speak in low tones.

Soda was laying on his back, feeling exhausted and too nauseous to eat his meager ration of rice that he had been given, the bowl of rice untouched beside him. He wondered vaguely if he was getting sick again. Bao was sitting next to him, leaning up against a tree and rubbing his injured leg gingerly.

"What day d'you think it is?" Soda asked vaguely as he stared up at the stars above him.

Bao looked down at him a bit strangely. Then he leaned back and thought for a minute. "Late January," he finally answered. "Close to February, I think."

Soda nodded, feeling a weight fall in his stomach. "My oldest brother turned twenty-three at the beginning of January," he said quietly.

Bao looked down at him sympathetically. "Family must miss you," he said. Soda could only nod, fighting back the tears threatening to overflow just as he did whenever he had any thoughts of home. "You will go home. I feel it."

Soda gave his friend a strained smile. He didn't know if he believed him, it was so hard to imagine somehow escaping from this hell, but it was still a nice thought. "What about your son?" he asked. Soda had long ago realized that Bao saw a little of his son in him because of how close they were in age. Soda appreciated it, and it made him feel less alone out here. Someone here cared if he lived or died. That helped him keep going most days.

Bao smiled sadly. "He turn eighteen last December," he said.

"He'll be glad when you're home," Soda tried to assured him.

Bao only nodded and they lapsed into silence. Soda was slowly slipping back into unconsciousness when he was vaguely aware of a hand on his forehead. For a split second he allowed himself to believe that he was sick in bed back in Tulsa and Darry was checking his temperature.

"Your fever back." He heard Bao's voice with the thick Vietnamese accent reminding him how far from home he was. "You must eat, Soda."

Soda knew that he was right. He pried his eyes back open and managed to roll over onto his side and pulled his bowl of rice closer to him. He managed to swallow several handfuls before he felt like he might vomit. He rolled back over and concentrated on keeping the small amount of food down even to the point of forcefully swallowing back bile that began to burn its way up his throat. Finally the exhaustion got the better of him and he fell into a deep sleep.

A week later Soda was still feeling run down and was unable to keep much food down. He was no longer able to support Bao on his own while they traveled but thankfully another prisoner had noticed and began supporting Bao on his other side to help. However, even with this help Soda was still struggling. Finally it became too much for his body to handle and he very suddenly lost consciousness in mid-step. He was limping along and then the next thing he knew he was on the ground with no idea how he had gotten there.

"Up!" Bao was over him, pleading with him. "You must be up! Soda!"

Soda squinted up at him blearily. He glanced around and saw a guard hovering nearby, his hand on his rifle. Slowly Soda realized that he was about to become one of the ones who was too sick to continue. Despite this realization he allowed his eyes to close again. Maybe this was how it was supposed to end for him. Maybe this is how his suffering was supposed to end.

"Your brothers!" Bao said frantically, shaking him. "You must live, Soda. You must go home! See your brothers!"

Suddenly Soda could see Pony's face. He remembered how he had looked at their parents' funeral. How devastated he had been. How devastated they had all been. And in that moment he knew that he had to try. He couldn't just give up. Not just for Pony's sake but for Darry's too. Not to mention Two-Bit and Steve. He had to keep going for them, all of them.

Soda forced his eyes open again as the guards began yelling angrily in Vietnamese. One was raising his rifle and pointing it right at Soda. Soda took a breath and reached deep inside himself as he dragged his arms up and then with what little energy he had left he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Just this small action was enough to cause dark spots to cloud his vision and he was fighting with everything he had just to remain conscious.

"Yes, yes," Bao was saying, looking relieved. "You strong. You make it through."

Soda took a deep breath but couldn't find any energy to get himself onto his feet. Bao grabbed one of his arms and began pulling him up, but he didn't have much strength left himself. Another prisoner approached and reached down to help. Slowly and carefully Soda was put back on his feet. He leaned on the other prisoner while that prisoner said something in Vietnamese to the guards. The guard frowned, but nodded curtly as he turned away from them.

"What did he say?" Soda asked Bao weakly.

"He say he carry you," Bao said.

The group slowly began to move again and Bao was still near him, leaning on a different prisoner to help him walk. "How do I thank him?" Soda asked.

"Cám ơn," Bao pronounced slowly.

Soda recited the Vietnamese phrase as best he could and the prisoner who was supporting him smiled at him, responding with what Soda guessed to be along the lines of "you're welcome," judging by his tone. Despite being the only American in the group Soda suddenly felt less alone. He knew that he wouldn't still be alive right now if it weren't for these South Vietnamese soldiers. It was a horrible situation for all of them, but the way they all banded together made it just a little more bearable.

As they continued traveling their numbers continued to dwindle as more and more prisoners fell behind. Soda's fever spiked and he became delirious for several days, hardly aware of what was going on around him. But somehow by some miracle he was still able to continue on with the aid of the other prisoners. His fever finally began to drop back down one night and he was aware of being propped up against a tree and being given water by Hien, the prisoner that had been supporting him ever since he had collapsed. He glanced around and immediately found something was wrong.

"Bao?" Soda croaked, trying to convey his entire question in just the man's name. Bao hadn't left his side since Soda had first arrived at the prison camp. It was strange that Soda couldn't spot him now.

Hien looked at him sadly and slowly shook his head. Soda felt his breath hitch in his chest at this gesture, refusing to believe what he was being told. Bao was gone? It couldn't be true, Hien must have misunderstood what he was asking. He looked around again, calling out Bao's name a little louder, which caused the nearby guards to yell some kind of threat that he couldn't understand. Hien tried to shush him but Soda was quickly beginning to panic. Several of the prisoners gathered around him and between them with their limited knowledge of English they were able to convey to Soda that several days had passed since his fever had spiked. On the second day Bao had collapsed very suddenly. They thought that it was probably due to a stroke or a heart attack. There had been nothing they could do to save him.

Soda felt devastated at this news. After everything that he had done for him, Soda had been able to do nothing in return. He hadn't even been aware enough to know what was going on, to know that Bao had collapsed much as he had done not long before. His mind whirled and he just couldn't seem to wrap his head around it. It wasn't fair. Bao didn't deserve that. He deserved to go home to his son. Now his body lay lost in the jungle, never to go home. It wasn't fair. He desperately wished there had been something he could have done for his friend. Someway he could have saved him much the same as Bao had done for him.

That night Soda cried. He really cried like he hadn't done since his first night in the camp. But as the night passed and the morning came upon them Soda found himself more determined than ever to make it through this. Bao had believed in him, he could tell that he had really believed that Soda would make it home. And after everything he had done for him Soda was determined to prove him right. There was no time to linger on grieving. He had to focus on surviving.

Five months. That was how long it took them to arrive at the next prison. The trip that the guards had told them would only take a week had taken them five months to complete. Soda had mostly recovered from his illness by then and was able to help another sick Vietnamese solider finish the trip. Without Bao there to help translate Soda worked harder at learning some basic Vietnamese words – something he realized he should have been doing from the very beginning rather than relying completely on Bao – and the other prisoners helped him as much as they could. Despite being the only American Soda suddenly felt very much a part of this group of South Vietnamese men.

As they finally arrived at the next prison Soda was relieved to find that this was more of a building than the last prison camp had been. There was a stone wall surrounding the complex and a legitimate looking facility within the walls. He was grateful for something other than a bamboo cage. The group was immediately separated upon arrival. Soda was hosed down and given a different set of clothing and although they weren't very clean and didn't fit him well they were at least in better shape than his uniform was after all his sickness.

Soda was taken to a small cell with a heavy metal door, four walls and a roof. He was still in captivity but it was definitely a step up from what he had been through in the past eight months. This place made him feel a little more human. Marginally anyway. A guard who spoke English informed him that if he tried to communicate with any other prisoners he would be severely punished. He received no medical care for his twisted ankle or his now chronic sickness. Food and water were still only given minimally. The only thing he was given in his cell was a rough piece of cloth for him to lay on. And he would quickly learn that his feeling of relief would quickly dissipate as he learned about this new hell.

Nine months. He found it so hard to wrap his head around the number, but he knew that was how long it had been since he had been captured. Were Darry and Pony still holding out hope that he was still alive somewhere? After all this time he wasn't sure what he would think if the situation was reversed. All he could do was hope that whether they believed he was still out there or not, that someday he would make it back home to them.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Thank you for you support everyone! This chapter will be all in Tulsa, I will be switching back to Soda's POV in the next chapter. Don't forget to review! And for those of you in America, Happy 4th of July! :)

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**Chapter Four**

_**Tulsa, Oklahoma**_

Darry lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, the same thing he had been doing for the past two hours. As his alarm went off he sighed heavily before rolling over and shutting it off. He had found over the past few months that mornings were always the hardest. During the day they were usually able to keep themselves pretty occupied, but at night there was nothing to distract himself from thoughts of his missing brother. By the time morning came Darry usually felt so heavy with depression over his brother that he could hardly find the strength to get up. Darry knew that today was going to be especially difficult for them all. It was going to be very bittersweet.

Darry sighed as he finally found the strength to drag himself out of bed for the two hundred and twenty first day in a row. He wandered out into the empty kitchen in the quiet house. Out of habit more than anything he started on breakfast. He wasn't very hungry and he had a feeling that Pony wasn't going to be very hungry either, but it still felt good to have some sort of routine to stick to.

Just as he was finishing up he heard the front door slam. A minute later Two-Bit appeared in the kitchen, straining a bit to smile at him. He had sobered up a lot over the past few months, in the literal sense as well as the mental sense. Soda going missing had been hard on all of them.

"Hey," Two-Bit said.

"Hey," Darry greeted. "You hungry?"

"Not really," Two-Bit said as he sat at the table. "The kid up yet?"

"Don't think so," Darry said. "I haven't heard him yet."

"Bet he's gonna be a ray of sunshine today," Two-Bit said sarcastically.

Darry nodded. "Yeah, probably," he agreed. Things hadn't gotten any easier with Ponyboy over the past few months. Some days he would be moody and then other days he could be downright depressed. It wasn't like he could just grieve and then try and move on because they weren't even sure if they should be grieving. "I better get him up."

"Maybe it would be better to just leave him here," Two-Bit suggested slowly.

Darry sighed. "I considered that," he admitted. "I don't think leaving him here by himself is such a good idea though. Not with what day today is."

"I guess," Two-Bit reluctantly agreed.

Darry trudged down the hallway and knocked on Pony's bedroom door. He waited for a moment but when he didn't hear a response he went ahead and opened the door.

"Pony?" Darry said, eyeballing the lump curled up under the covers on one side of the bed. Darry had noticed that despite having the whole bed to himself, Pony never seemed to stray past his own side of the bed. "C'mon, Pony, time to get up."

"I ain't goin'," came Pony's muffled voice from under the covers.

Darry sighed. "C'mon, Pony we already talked about this," he said tiredly. "It'll be good for us all to go."

"I don't wanna," Pony mumbled stubbornly.

"What're you gonna do, stay in bed all day?" Darry asked as he walked more fully into the room.

"Maybe," Pony said.

"Yeah, that would make Soda real happy," Darry said sarcastically.

Pony pulled the covers down so that his head poked out and glared at him. "How would you know what would make him happy right now?" he demanded.

"Pony, his best friend is comin' home today after bein' deployed for a year," Darry said tiredly. "Do you really think he'd want us to ignore that fact?"

Pony was quiet for several minutes, obviously having no comeback for that. Then he sighed sadly as the anger drained from his face. "It's just not fair," he said quietly. "Soda should be comin' home too…"

"Yeah, I know," Darry said. It was the elephant that had been in the room ever since they found out when Steve would be coming home. One year ago both Soda and Steve had left together. Now only Steve was returning. Darry walked forward and carefully sat on the edge of Pony's bed. "It's gonna be a hard day for all of us, Pony. But Steve is gonna need us to be there for him once he finds out. You know that's what Soda would want."

They had gotten several letters from Steve over the past few months and had written several back to him, but none of them had had the heart to tell him that Soda was missing in action. It just seemed so cruel to put him through that while he was still overseas on the front lines fighting for his life. But now that he was coming home it seemed that perhaps the real reason had been that selfishly none of them had wanted to tell him at all. But now they had to.

"Yeah, okay," Pony finally relented, though he looked far from happy with the situation.

Darry glanced down at his watch as he stood. "Hurry up and get dressed," he said. "We gotta leave in ten minutes."

Darry walked out of the room and closed the door behind him to give Pony some privacy. As he walked back into the kitchen he saw that Two-Bit had not moved, nor had he touched any of the breakfast that he had made.

"How'd it go?" Two-Bit asked.

"As well as can be expected," Darry said as he fell into a chair. "He's gettin' dressed anyway. That's a start."

"Yeah well Pony is gonna be an absolute delight next to Steve today," Two-Bit said flatly.

"I know," Darry said heavily. "I can't imagine any scenario where he takes this news well."

"Can't you blame him though?" Two-Bit pointed out. "I mean, ain't none of us takin' this particularly well."

"You ain't a woofin'," Darry agreed flatly.

In an attempt to set a good example as well as to give him leverage for when Pony came in, Darry made himself up at plate of eggs and began picking at it. Two-Bit took the hint and did the same. When Pony finally appeared it took some hounding but Darry finally got him to eat some. By that time they were running late. The three of them hurried out to the truck, climbed in, and started off towards the bus station.

They were all silent the whole way there. Five of them had made his trip a year ago. Only four would be returning back. Darry had thought that seeing his little brother and his best friend off would be the most painful thing he ever had to do. Turns out he was wrong. Going to get his brother's best friend without his brother was even more painful.

They arrived at the bus station to find that it was very crowded. Obviously the bus had already arrived because there were many men in military uniforms reuniting with their families. Darry took in a steadying breath, trying not to take in too much of the scene in front of him. All he really wanted to do was find Steve as quickly as possible and then leave this place.

He parked the truck and the three of them piled out. But instead of heading into the crowd to search for Steve they all hung back in the parking lot, feeling a little out of place with all the happy reunions. Thankfully only a few minutes later they saw a familiar figure making his way through the crowd toward them.

"Well, it's about time!" Steve said with half a grin.

Darry couldn't help but smile back. Steve was as good as family and despite Soda's current status it was still damn good to see him come home safely. With a glance Darry could see some of Two-Bit's old spark come back at the sight of their friend. However Pony stood back with his arms crossed and a frown on his face.

"Oh, right, Steve's comin' home today!" Two-Bit said as he smacked his forehead, acting like he had just remembered. "I knew we were forgetting somethin'! We just happen to hang out at the bus station these days."

"Very funny," Steve said sarcastically as he approached.

"Welcome back, buddy," Two-Bit said with a grin as he clasped Steve's shoulder.

"Damn good to be back," Steve said.

"Good to see you," Darry said as he stepped forward, giving Steve a pat on the back as a greeting.

"Thanks Darry," Steve said.

"Can we go now?" Pony mumbled from behind them. Darry shot him an exasperated look. He understood that Pony was still hurting, but he was even more annoyed that he couldn't just let them enjoy the moment. After all, they could have lost even more than they did. Steve was living, breathing proof of that.

"You had a long trip," Darry said, turning back to Steve. "How 'bout we head home?"

"Sounds good to me," Steve said, seeming unfazed by Pony's comment.

Two-Bit and Steve climbed into the bed of the truck while Darry and Pony climbed back into the cab. Pony put his elbow up on the window and rested his chin in his palm as he stared dismally out the window. As they drove Darry kept glancing out the back and noticed that Two-Bit was talking a mile a minute. It took Darry a minute to figure out what he was doing. He was trying to keep Steve from getting a word in edgewise in an attempt to keep the inevitable question at bay for as long as possible.

They pulled up to the house and climbed out. As they were heading up the walk the light atmosphere was suddenly shattered by that question that they all knew was coming.

"Have you guys heard from Soda lately?" Steve asked casually, glancing over at Darry. "Do you know when he's gettin' home?"

Two-Bit's mindless yammering suddenly came to an abrupt halt. Pony suddenly tensed. Darry felt like all the air had been sucked from his lungs. They all knew it was coming, but it was still difficult to just hear the question. And now someone had to answer it.

"We… don't know," Darry said lamely as they walked up the front porch.

"You don't know when he's comin' home?" Steve asked, confused.

"No, we don't," Darry said. It certainly wasn't a lie.

Steve stopped short on the steps. Darry and Two-Bit stopped with him but Pony continued into the house, letting the door slam behind him. "What do you mean?" he demanded. "You shoulda found out weeks ago when he was being shipped back. His tour is up, just like mine."

Darry sighed heavily. "Come inside," he said. "Let's not do this on the porch."

"Do what on the porch?" Steve asked, an edge in his voice.

"C'mon," Two-Bit said, coming up behind Steve and nudging him along. Reluctantly Steve allowed himself to be pushed up the rest of the steps and they entered the house. They saw that Pony had plopped himself on the couch and was staring blankly at the television that wasn't turned on.

"What's goin' on?" Steve demanded impatiently.

"Sit down, Steve," Darry said.

"No, tell me what's goin' on," Steve said, quickly getting angry.

"Please, Steve," Darry said, a hint of pleading in his voice as he fell into the recliner. Steve studied him critically for a moment before he made his way over to the couch and slowly sat down. Two-Bit crossed his arms over his chest and leaned up against the wall, a serious expression on his face.

"What happened?" Steve asked flatly, a fire smoldering behind his eyes.

Darry hesitated. How could he do this? How could he tell Soda's best friend that they didn't even know if he is coming home? He took a deep breath.

"We got a letter from the military," he said slowly.

Steve's features immediately took on a cold expression as he met Darry's eyes. "Is he… was he…?" He let the question hang, but it was clear what he was trying to say. He was asking if Soda was killed in action. It was a very logical jump to make given the situation. Unfortunately the answer just wasn't that simple.

Darry shook his head as he dropped his gaze down to the floor, unable to meet Steve's eyes. He swallowed hard and decided that it would just be best to spit it out rather than drag it out. "They told us that Soda went missing in action."

There were several minutes of silence as Steve tried to absorb this information. "How long ago?" he finally asked in a low voice.

"Almost seven months ago," Darry told him dully. "Back at the beginning of September."

Suddenly Steve's eyes flared with anger. "And you're just telling me this _now_?" he asked, his voice rising. "After he's been missing for _seven months_?"

"We just didn't want to tell you while you were over there," Darry said. "You didn't need any distractions."

"I had a right to know!" Steve suddenly exclaimed as he jumped to his feet.

"Yes, you did," Darry said quickly, trying to diffuse the situation. "I'm sorry it's just… we couldn't tell you like that."

"You should have told me!" Steve raged. "You had seven whole months to tell me!"

Steve spun and made to storm out of the house but Two-Bit stepped in his way. Steve made to push past him but Two-Bit grabbed him. Darry jumped to his feet and Pony turned his head and looked over at them, though his eyes were strangely empty.

"You ain't leaving," Two-Bit said as they struggled.

"Like hell I ain't!" Steve yelled. "Get the hell off me!"

"No!" Two-Bit shot back.

Darry moved over to them as the struggle was turning into an actual fight, but didn't get there in time. Steve yanked his arm free and wound up, slugging Two-Bit square in the face. Two-Bit cursed loudly as he fell away but Darry was there in an instant, coming up behind Steve and grabbing him in a vice grip.

"Steve, calm down!" Darry said loudly.

"You shoulda told me!" Steve yelled as he continued to struggle hard. "You shoulda told me while I was over there! I coulda looked for him, I coulda found him!"

"There was nothin' you could do!" Darry said firmly.

"What were you gonna do, go wanderin' through the jungles of Vietnam lookin' for him?" Two-Bit mumbled as he sat up and cupped his nose that was now gushing blood all over him.

"Why not!" Steve growled.

"Jesus, Steve, he ain't some little kid that wandered off at the mall," Two-Bit said.

Steve cursed Two-Bit loudly as he pulled against Darry's grip.

"There's nothin' you can do!" They all turned in surprise at the sound of Pony's voice. Pony was still sitting on the couch but his eyes were suddenly full of pain as he looked at them. "There's nothin' any of us can do. He's gone and he's never comin' back!" There was silence as Steve even forgot to struggle as they stared at the youngest member of the gang, shocked by his sudden outburst. "You're lucky, Steve," Pony went on quietly. "You're lucky to not have known all this time. All knowing does is hurt you and make you feel helpless cause there's nothin' any of us can do to change the fact that Soda is gone."

"Pony," Darry said gently, feeling his heart twist at Pony's words. Pony was supposed to be the hopeful one. "We don't know that he's gone."

"You really think that after seven months in Vietnam he's still out there?" Steve said darkly as he took a step away from Darry who had loosened his grip on him. "I was out there. I know what it's like out there."

Darry looked back and forth between Steve and Pony in disbelief. "Soda's tough," he said, though he knew he didn't sound very convincing. "He could still be out there, he could still come home."

"You don't believe that," Pony said flatly.

Darry stared at him and then sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "Look, this has been hard on all of us," he admitted. "And I dunno if he's still out there or not. But I do know that Soda wouldn't want our lives to fall apart because of this." He looked over at Pony. "Ponyboy, you gotta stop biting everyone's heads off and bein' so moody all the time. I get that you're hurtin', but we all are." Darry turned to Steve. "Steve, I know this is a lot for you to take in right when you get back, but you can't just run off and get yourself into trouble. We still care about you and we're all we got left now. You're family. Soda bein' gone doesn't change that." He looked over at Two-Bit who was still sitting on the floor, leaning up against the wall. "Two-Bit… you're bleedin' on the carpet."

Two-Bit choked a laugh. "Hey, not my fault, man!" he said, looking pointedly at Steve.

"No matter what happens with Soda, we gotta keep ourselves together and we gotta keep goin' with our lives," Darry went on. "That's all we can do right now."

"Darry's right," Two-Bit said seriously, looking from Steve to Pony, both of which had sobered expressions at Darry's speech. "We've still got each other. That's somethin'."

There were several beats of silence. "I'm sorry I've been so difficult," Pony mumbled, looking down at his hands.

"It's okay, Pony," Darry assured him. "I know this has been hard on you. Just give us some slack okay? Meet us halfway sometimes. This ain't easy on us either." Pony simply nodded. Then Darry focused on Steve again. He had seemed to calm down considerably and with the anger gone it was clear how upsetting this news was to him. "Why don't you sit, Steve?" Darry suggested.

"I just… wish I coulda done somethin'," Steve said vaguely. "If I had been there…"

"I know," Darry said. "But you weren't there. There wasn't anythin' you could do. All we can do now is try and deal with this the best we can."

Steve finally moved over to the couch and fell heavily, his posture taking on a defeated look as he hunched over. He closed his eyes as he rubbed his forehead. He suddenly looked so much older than nineteen. It suddenly hit Darry the reality of this current situation. Steve had been overseas for an entire year on the front lines of this war. They couldn't even imagine what he had been through in the jungles of Vietnam. He finally made it home and he finds out that his best friend wasn't coming home as well. Today was supposed to be a day of happy reunions. Instead it was just another reminder of how broken their lives were. They couldn't even have a happy reunion as Steve finally returned home in one piece.

Darry had no idea if his brother was dead or alive right now. But he did know that Steve was still alive. He did know that Pony and Two-Bit were still here. Those are the ones he had to be concerned about right now. He had to keep them going and he had to keep their lives together. Even if Soda was still out there, there wasn't anything that Darry could do to keep him safe no matter how much that fact killed him. He could only focus on the ones that were here with him now. And one fact that Darry knew without a doubt was that they had to keep living either way. But despite all that Darry could only hope and pray that somewhere, somehow Soda was having that same thought: that he had to keep on living.

_Soda, if you're still out there, please keep on living,_ Darry thought to himself. _Please keep on fighting. And please come home. _


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Fair warning, the Soda part of this chapter gets a little intense. Don't forget to review!

* * *

**Chapter Five**

_**Tulsa, Oklahoma**_

Pony felt heavy as he walked home from school. It was a few weeks into his senior year of high school. The date was September 3rd, 1970. It had been exactly one year since Soda had gone missing in action in Vietnam. Three hundred and sixty-five long days of not knowing whether his brother was dead or alive. The weight of his milestone was palpable. Even when he had seen Darry this morning he could tell that he too knew what day it was, though they chose not to talk about it. What was there to say at this point anyway?

Generally Pony would head right home after school. But today he took a slight detour. He wouldn't admit where he was going until he was staring across the street at the familiar DX station. Everything looked normal. There was a Ford at the pump getting a fill up. There were a few high schoolers hanging around outside the store part of the station. It was as if nothing had changed since the days that Pony would go see his brother after school and he would buy him a Pepsi and show him how to work on cars. It was strange to come to this place that had been so important to his brother and find that it was exactly the same.

He found his feet following the familiar path across the street and into the parking lot. He crossed the lot and before he really understood what he was doing he was walking into the garage. At a glance it looked empty. After a minute he finally spotted Steve hunched over the engine under the hood of a car, muttering to himself. Clearly he wasn't aware of Pony's entrance. Pony deliberately coughed, hoping not to startle Steve too much. Steve jerked slightly at the noise as he turned to look at him, his expression annoyed as usual.

"What are you doin' here?" he asked, a bit sharply.

Pony bit the inside of his cheek as he hesitated. He didn't really know what he was doing here, to tell the truth. Finally he shrugged. "Just thought I'd drop by."

Steve cocked a confused eyebrow at him. But then he seemed to shake it off as he turned back to his work. Pony carefully walked further into the garage, gazing around the familiar area. He walked up to where Steve was working and perched on a nearby stool much like he used to do when Soda was working. This all felt suddenly so foreign to him.

As he watched Steve work he could help but think about his brother. They hadn't talked about him much, especially since Steve had returned. It was an extremely touchy topic for Steve and anything that reminded him of Soda seemed to send him off in a rage these days. Pony stared at Soda's best friend for a long time, a question burning just on the tip of his tongue, but he was afraid to ask it. After a few minutes Steve seemed to notice stopped working though he stayed bent over the engine as he glared at him.

"What?" Steve demanded angrily.

Pony felt weary. Over the past few months Steve had become more and more unpredictable. These days he reminded Pony a lot of Dally before he had died. He constantly had a dangerous look to him and if anyone caught him in a bad mood the smallest comment could cause him to start throwing punches. Pony had managed to avoid being slugged by Steve up until now and he knew the smart thing to do would be to mumble an apology for staring and then find an excuse to leave. But before his brain could stop him the question was already out of his mouth.

"Do you think Soda could still be alive?" Pony blurted.

Steve stared at him for a minute. At first he looked dumbstruck at the question but his features quickly dissolved into the moody glare that had become normal over the past few months. "How the hell should I know?" he finally growled in a low voice.

Pony looked down at his hands, not wanting to look Steve in the eyes. "Well… you were over there," he pointed out slowly. "You know better than the rest of us what it's like."

"It's hell on Earth, kid," Steve said shortly.

But Pony just couldn't let it go. He needed to have some kind of hope. "On the news the other night they were talkin' about prisoners of war," he went on, trying not to sound too eager. "Do… do you think that that's what coulda happened to Soda? Do you think he could have been captured and he's bein' held prisoner over there?"

Steve studied him for a moment and Pony tensed as he risked a glance over at him, wondering vaguely if he was going to belt him just for posing the question. Steve straightened up but instead of lunging at Pony he slowly turned and leaned up against the car with a sigh. With that sigh it seemed that all the anger suddenly drained out of him. Pony relaxed just a fraction.

"What are you doin' watchin' that crap?" he asked, avoiding the actual question.

Pony just shrugged. They usually didn't watch the news in the house, but Darry was working late and Pony had turned it on so that the house would seem just a little less empty. He knew full well he could have changed the channel to something that didn't have to do with the war, but somehow he hadn't been able to bring himself to. It was upsetting to see the footage of how brutal the war was, but at the same time it made him feel a little closer to his brother.

"It's not likely," Steve went on in a monotone after a pause. "Soda was only in the army a few months, he was just a Private. The lowest rank. It's not like he had any information or anythin'. There would be no reason to capture him and… and keep him alive. There's nothin' they could gain from him."

Pony could feel his heart fall. For the first couple months it had been easy to believe that perhaps Soda was just lost somewhere and he would be found any day. But now that a year had passed it was getting harder and harder to come up with a logical explanation for how Soda had not been found yet if he really were still out there. Pony had thought his revelation about the prisoners of war would be his saving grace, a small bit of hope that he could hold onto that his brother would someday return home. But it seemed that that idea didn't make sense either.

"Oh," Pony mumbled, unable to keep the disappointment out of his tone. At that moment for the first time he really started to think that maybe Soda wasn't coming home. That maybe he was really gone forever.

Steve studied him for a moment and Pony wasn't sure if he just imagined it but it looked like his eyes softened just a little bit. "Hey, I guess it's possible," he backtracked slowly as he shrugged. "I mean those guys over there, those Vietnamese soldiers, they're pretty jacked up. Maybe they had some reason to take him alive."

Pony wasn't sure if he found that comforting when he put it that way, but he understood what Steve was trying to do. Steve wanted Soda to be alive just as much as Pony did. He was just more realistic about the situation.

"Thanks," Pony said.

"For what?" Steve asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"For not beltin' me for askin'." Pony gave him a half smile despite the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Steve sighed and leaned back. "I miss him too, you know," he said quietly.

Pony nodded. "I know."

They were quiet for several minutes. Then Steve pushed himself off of the car and turned back to continue working on the engine. "You better get home. Darry's gonna wonder where you are."

"Yeah," Pony agreed. He knew that he was right. Pony hardly went anywhere anymore so if Darry came home to an empty house he would probably be concerned. He hopped down off the stool and started heading toward the door.

"Hey kid." Pony stopped and turned. Steve had his back to him and he was hunched over the engine of the car again. He wasn't really looking at him but his head was slightly cocked in his direction. "If you wanna stop by sometimes… that'd be fine."

Pony smiled lightly at the invitation. "Sure," he agreed. "I'll see you around."

"See ya, kid."

XxXxX

_**Vietnam**_

Soda had almost lost all track of time. For a while he had no idea how much time had passed. Weeks? Months? After he had arrived at this new camp he had been immediately placed in a cell at the far end of the prison and he hadn't left since. At first he was grateful to be left alone, but now the silence and isolation was starting to get to him. He couldn't remember the last time he saw another person. Water tended to appear just inside the door while he was unconscious and every so often food would be with it. Even less often he would wake to also find the rare treat that the bucket in the corner of the cell that he relieved himself in was emptied.

Soda's body was feeling weaker and weaker with every passing day. He made an effort to walk around the room each day to try and keep some strength and stretch out his deteriorating muscles but it was getting harder just to get up these days.

Soda started to assume that water came to him once a day and used that to attempt to keep track of some semblance of time using tic marks in the dirt on the floor by the piece of cloth that served as his bed. He had sixty-eight tic marks in the dirt. He didn't know how long he had been in this room before he had started keeping track, but it was comforting to at least have some kind of idea of the passage of time. It made him feel him just a little more secure.

Soda was laying on the floor staring at the ceiling – pretty much what he did most of the time – when the door suddenly scraped open. The sound assaulted his senses after being in isolation and mostly silence except for the sounds he made himself for so long. He almost jumped out of his skin at the harsh, unexpected noise. He gazed up at the Vietnamese soldier in the doorway and had no idea what to make of him. He hadn't seen anyone in months. He froze, unsure what to make of this.

"Up," the soldier commanded, looking down at him. Soda just stared back, hardly comprehending. His mind felt sluggish. Suddenly the solider was on him, grabbing his arm and yanking him painfully to his feet. "Up! On your feet!"

Soda locked his knees under him in an attempt to stay on his feet. He stumbled along, the guard gripping his arm hard as he pushed him out of the cell. They moved down a short hallway and then suddenly they were outside. As he stepped out into the sunlight he couldn't help but cry out a little. After months in the dark the sunlight was almost unbearable to his eyes. He squinted down at the ground and put his free hand up to block the light some. He felt so disoriented. He moved slowly and the soldier impatiently pushed him along, knocking him down to the ground at one point and then violently pulling him back to his feet.

Finally they came to a room. The soldier pushed the door open and shoved him inside so hard that he immediately fell to the ground with a low grunt, though he managed to catch himself with his hands so that he was somewhat in a sitting position. The room had a dim light that was a little easier on his eyes, and he blinked furiously trying to get his eyes to adjust. He gazed around the room, the first place he had been other than his cell in months. It took several minutes but things finally started to come into focus. There were other people in this room. Soda suddenly felt his breath catch in his chest. He didn't know what was about to happen, but somehow he knew that it wasn't going to be good.

"Name!" It wasn't until the Vietnamese man was right in his face that he realized he was talking to him. Conversation was a foreign activity to him at this point. "What is you name!" His accent reminded Soda so much of Bao, but his English seem to come easier to him than it had to Bao, like he had studied the language more closely.

Soda considered briefly not answering. Why should he bother? But then a foot came down hard on his back from one of the soldiers behind him and he was suddenly slammed hard into the ground. Spots clouded his vision and he realized just how weak his body really was after so much captivity and malnutrition. Slowly he pushed himself back up onto his knees, glaring up at the man in front on him. He refused to answer while laying on the floor. He felt degraded enough as it was.

"Curtis," he spat, his voice raspy from disuse.

There was some conversation in Vietnamese and Soda struggled to pull out words that he knew, but they were speaking too quickly and his mind wasn't the sharpest at the moment. As they had some kind of discussion Soda gave up with trying to understand what was being said and instead surveyed the room that he was in. The room was bigger than his cell but seemed just as bare. There were the three men that stood near him and then he noticed two more men standing in a far corner on either side of someone sitting in a chair. Soda stared at the seated man. He seemed strange to him for some reason. He was clearly a battered prisoner, but Soda had seen that in the last prison.

It took him several minutes to realize why he seemed so different. And when it finally dawned on him he felt his heart jump up into his throat. The man in the chair was American. The first American that Soda had seen since he was captured a year ago. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but the man looked older than him. His hands were pulled behind his back at such a harsh angle that Soda figure they had to be tied that way. His shoulders were hunched over and he was staring straight down at the floor. His shirt was gone and Soda could glimpse bruises and cuts all along his body, some of which were still bleeding.

Soda was so distracted by the sight he wasn't immediately aware of the soldier approaching him until he grabbed his roughly by his hair, yanking his head back painfully. Soda let out a small yelp and at the sound the other American snapped his head up. There were bags under hollow eyes as he looked at him. His expression was blank for a moment and then slowly became confused and concerned as he took in the scene in front of him.

"I want information, Mr. Daniels," one of the Vietnamese soldiers said, approaching the American. Soda slowly realized that Daniels must be the American's name. "And I believe that Mr. Curtis over there wants you to give it to me."

Soda was still trying to understand what was going on as he was pulled up on his knees. He saw the man's eyes – Daniels' eyes – dart over in his direction. Suddenly out of nowhere there was a red-hot pain clawing its way down his back. He was so startled that he cried out so hard his voice cracked painfully.

"What do you think, Mr. Curtis?" The soldier was suddenly right in his face again. Soda's back was still burning horribly and it suddenly felt wet and sticky. Whatever they had hit him with clearly had sliced right through his shirt and he was now bleeding. Quite a bit it seemed. "Do you not think that Mr. Daniels should tell us what we want to know?"

Soda glared up at him. "Go to hell," he mumbled. He was immediately slashed across his back again, though this time he was able to clench his jaw and only let out a low groan despite the blinding pain. He had no idea what kind of information they were trying to get from Daniels but he didn't care. He wasn't going to be used like this.

"Mr. Curtis' wellbeing is dependent on your cooperation, Mr. Daniels," the solider said pleasantly, walking back over to where Daniels was tied to the chair.

"Leave him out of this," Daniels said in a low voice, though exhausted was clear in his tone. Soda wondered vaguely how long they had been interrogating him like this. "He's got nothin' to do with this."

Soda's arms were suddenly yanked forcefully behind his back and he felt rope being wrapped around his left wrist. The rope was then wrapped around his waist so that it was pulling his left arm to the right. The other end of the rope was tied to Soda's right wrist, which was then pulled to the left. They tightened the rope so that it pulled his arms in the wrong directions so far that his face screwed up in anguish and he was seriously concerned his shoulders were about to be ripped out of their sockets.

"I believe he has a lot to do with this," the solider said.

There was another crack as pain blasted across his back again, combining with the pain in his shoulders. He couldn't help but cry out but he bit down on the noise as quickly as possible.

"We want names, Mr. Daniels," the solider said calmly.

Suddenly Soda was shoved to the ground. Since his arms were still tied too tightly behind his back his face bounced off the concrete of the floor, sending stars dancing across his vision. Someone reached down and forced him onto his side and suddenly there were vicious kicks both to his ribs and his back, sending excruciating pain throughout his entire body. He could do nothing to defend himself, all he could do way lay there and try to keep from crying out too much.

Very suddenly the attack stopped, leaving Soda gasping for breath as he lay limp on the floor. He rolled onto his back as he gazed blearily around the room trying to figure out why the assault had stopped. Suddenly there was a gun pointed down at him. Looking up the barrel of a gun had strangely become fairly mundane for him at this point and he didn't flinch as he just waited to see if this was really going to be the end this time.

"Well, if Mr. Curtis has no use…" the solider said, letting the threat hang in the air.

"No!" Daniels suddenly shouted with a small burst of energy.

"Then tell us what we want to know."

Daniels sighed in defeat. "Okay," he said quietly, his shoulders hunched.

"No," Soda moaned, only to receive a firm stomp on his chest that knocked what little wind he had left out of him. He coughed hard which sent dizzying waves of pain through his chest. He had to have at least a few broken ribs.

Daniels glanced over at him briefly before looking back down at the floor. Quietly he began listing names as one of the other soldiers wrote them down.

"Thank you, Mr. Daniels," the solider who appeared to be in charge said sweetly after he had finished. "Now that wasn't so difficult, was it?"

He didn't answer. There was some movement from the other soldiers around the room but Soda was having a hard time focusing on what was going on and he tried desperately to stay conscious. Then he heard the door to the room open and close again. The room was quiet for several minutes and Soda wondered vaguely if they had just left him here alone, his arms still tied in such an unnatural position. Then he heard more movement. Someone was still in the room with him.

"Son?" It was Daniels. Soda wasn't sure if they had untied him before they had left or if he had managed to free himself but suddenly he was kneeling over him. "Son? Curtis? Can you hear me?" Soda gave a low moan. "Hang on. I'm gonna untie you." Carefully Daniels rolled Soda back over onto his side so that he could get to the knots in the rope by his wrists. As he put some pressure on the rope the pain worsened and Soda felt an involuntary whimper escape from his throat. "Sorry," he mumbled. "It's the only way to get them undone though."

It took several long minutes for Daniels to navigate the intricate knots, but finally the pressure lessened and his arms fell free. Soda let out a sigh of relief.

"Thanks," he murmured.

"It's the least I could do," Daniels said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for them to pull you in to this."

"It's not your fault," Soda told him. He still lay on the ground as he didn't have the energy to sit up. He looked up at Daniels who was sitting on the floor next to him. "What were they after, anyway?"

"Names of my superiors," Daniels said. Then he gave an ironic half-smile. "I gave them the names of some guys from my football team in high school."

Soda choked on a laugh at this. Now that he got a good look at Daniels it looked like he was in his late thirties and he was banged up to hell. "How long have you been here?"

"I got captured about two years ago," he said dully. "What about you? You can't be much more than eighteen."

"I'm nineteen." Soda was remembering how his last birthday had passed while he was in captivity. "I was captured probably about a year ago. Its hard to keep track."

"I've never seen them take someone so young," Daniels said, a note of confusion in his voice. "Usually they take men they think they can get information out of."

"Guess I'm special," Soda said flatly. But it was something that had nagged at the back of his mind ever since the day they had taken him. Why? Why had they captured him, why had they kept him alive? Was it for this reason? To torture him in front of other American soldiers to help get information out of them? The thought made him feel sick, but he couldn't come up with another explanation at the moment.

He shifted and winced as he forgot about the gashes on his back. Daniels helped him carefully take his shirt off. The back was in shreds but the front was pretty much intact. He was able to tear it and wrap it around Soda's midsection with the intact fabric pressing up against the wounds on his back in an attempt to stem some of the bleeding. By this time the soldiers had returned and demanded that they get on their feet. Daniels was able to stand but Soda was struggling and had to get help from him. They were marched out of the interrogation room and then taken their separate ways. Soda felt distressed as they were separated. It had been nice to finally talk to another American, even despite the circumstance.

Soda barely made it back to his cell before he collapsed. He could feel blood soaking through his makeshift bandage and he wondered how much blood he was loosing. He felt thirsty and everything was going fuzzy. As he slowly slipped into unconsciousness he couldn't help but wonder for the countless time how long he could live like this.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

_**Tulsa, Oklahoma**_

As Two-Bit walked up the street he did his best to keep as alert as possible, acutely aware of his surroundings. He was used to hanging out on the bad side of town, but this was definitely the shadiest part of downtown he had been to. He had been here several times over the past couple of months and it always put him a little on edge. Though this time it was at least early in the morning, which meant most of the residents were passed out from either drugs or alcohol or perhaps both.

Two-Bit walked up the stairs of the apartment building, almost overwhelmed by the stench of alcohol and body odor, along with a few other smells he didn't want to identify. He made it to the third floor and walked down the hallway, carefully stepping over a man in his thirties who was passed out in the middle of the hallway though thankfully he still seemed to be breathing. He quickly found the apartment he was looking for and pounded loudly on the door. He waited a minute before hitting it with his fist again. He shifted uncomfortably and then tried the door only to find it locked.

"Steve!" he tried calling and he knocked loudly again. "Steve, open up!"

Finally he heard some movement on the other side of the door. He heard the rusted lock groan and then the door swung open, revealing a shirtless Steve blinking sleepily at him, though still managing to look annoyed.

"Jesus, Two-Bit, you're gonna wake the whole goddamn building," he muttered. "You got any idea what time it is?"

"It's seven in the morning," Two-Bit said brightly. "Which means we gotta get goin' or we're gonna be late."

"Late for wh-" Steve started to ask but then cut himself off as realization dawned on him. "Oh… yeah. That's today."

"Sure is," Two-Bit said with a grin. "Now I'm no fashion expert, but I would think a shirt of some sort would be appropriate at this sort of event." He glanced down. "Maybe some pants that aren't caked in oil too."

Steve sighed. "Yeah, yeah." He turned from the door and walked back into the apartment. Two-Bit followed him, closing the door behind him. Steve was already disappearing into the bedroom as Two-Bit scanned the room. It was a wreck as usual. The only furniture was a ratty, old couch and a small, beat up television that barely worked, both of which they had salvaged from the nearby dump. There were beer bottles and fast food wrappers littering the counters and the floor. The smell of alcohol was more palpable in this room.

"You been drinkin' this mornin', Steve?" Two-Bit called, trace hints of concern in his voice as he eyed the half full beer bottle balanced on the arm of the couch. Since getting back to civilian life Steve had struggled quite a bit, especially with trying to adjust to the fact that Soda hadn't come home with him. Several months ago Darry had received a phone call from Buck early one morning to tell him that Steve was passed out drunk at the roadhouse and wouldn't wake. They ended up having to take him to the hospital to get treated for alcohol poisoning. Ever since then they had all done their best to keep a close eye on him, though he had at least seemed to make an effort after seeing all their reactions to him being in the hospital.

"No, I was sleepin' when you got here," Steve grumbled as he reappeared in the living room, pulling an old t-shirt over his head.

Two-Bit eyed the t-shirt with a few unidentifiable stains and the jeans he had pulled on with a hole torn in the knee. "Don't you look pretty," he said with a laugh. They all knew that Steve didn't do laundry very often.

Steve cuffed him hard upside the head. "Let's just get this over with."

"That's the spirit!" Two-Bit said grinning in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Steve pulled on a pair of sneakers before he headed out of the apartment, Two-Bit on his heels. As Steve locked up, Two-Bit eyed the man passed out in the hallway again, finding that he hadn't moved an inch. Steve didn't give him a second glance as he simply stepped over him as they headed back to the stairs.

"Darry send you over here for me?" Steve asked as they stepped outside. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit up.

"Naw, he's got his hands full with Pony," Two-Bit said seriously. "I came on my own. I figured you wouldn't remember."

Steve snorted but didn't respond. They were quiet as they approached the bus stop. The bus appeared only a few minutes later and they boarded, finding that it was practically empty. They rode in silence and as Two-Bit glanced over he noticed that Steve's eyes were slightly bloodshot and he was squinting a bit against the sunlight. He suspected he was probably hung over but decided not to say anything about it. Today was supposed to be a happy occasion after all and they could all use a reason to celebrate.

They got off the bus at the stop just down the street from the Curtis house.

"You gonna be nice to Pony today?" Two-Bit said conversationally as they walked up the street.

"Why?" Steve muttered moodily, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"'Cause he's graduating high school today," Two-Bit said with a hint of exasperation in his voice, a bit annoyed that he had to even point that out. "It's a big day for him and it's gonna be tough enough to be happy about it without…" he let his thought trail off, unsure if he should finish or if it was just going to cause Steve to lash out at him for bringing it up.

"Without Soda there to see it," Steve finished the statement flatly. "Yeah, I know."

Two-Bit only nodded as the Curtis house came into sight. Even the house itself seemed strangely subdued as they approached it. Two-Bit wondered vaguely how different it would seem if Soda were here. It would certainly be so much easier to celebrate if they were all together. Or, as much as he hated to admit it even just to himself, it would be easier to celebrate if they at least knew that Soda wasn't ever coming back and had been able to grieve for him. It had been a very long year and eight months since he first went missing in action in the jungles of Vietnam and there had been no news since. They were perpetually stuck in a limbo between grief and hope almost like a torturous purgatory which was hard on all of them.

It used to be when he entered the Curtis house Two-Bit would call out happily, but somehow that didn't seem appropriate anymore. Instead they quietly entered the house, feeling how empty it felt. The five original occupants were now cut down to two. They made their way into the kitchen and found Darry sitting at the table, a mug of coffee in his hand and the paper untouched in front of him.

"Hey, Darry," Two-Bit spoke up. Steve moved past him without a word and headed for the coffee pot. "You guys almost ready?"

Darry looked up at him and then sighed heavily, a frown on his face. "He doesn't want to go."

Two-Bit gave a start at this. "What d'you mean?"

"Pony doesn't want to go to his graduation," he said dully. "He said it doesn't matter, he'll still get his diploma."

They were silent for a moment as this information sunk in. Two-Bit and Steve exchanged a glance.

"Well, he has to go," Steve spoke up.

Darry shrugged. "No he doesn't."

"You can make him go," Steve tried.

"Why?" Darry said, looking over at him with tired eyes. "It's _his_ graduation. If he doesn't want to go then why should I make him?"

They all fell silent again. Then Two-Bit suddenly turned and started heading back out of the kitchen. "I'll talk to him," he said decisively.

"Don't try the 'it's what Soda would want' line," Darry advised dismally. "I already tried that and it didn't go over well."

Two-Bit nodded as he started down the hall. He didn't bother knocking when he got to Pony's room he just walked right in. He could see the lump in the bed where Pony had buried himself under his blankets even though with summer right away the corner it was pretty warm.

"Go away, Darry," came a muffled voice.

"I ain't Darry," Two-Bit said as he closed the door behind him.

Pony poked his head out from under the covers, giving him a quizzical look. "What are you doin' here?"

"I came to go to your graduation," he said simply as he walked over to the bed. He pulled out the chair from Pony's desk and straddled the back of it, letting his arms rest on the back.

"I ain't goin'," Pony said stubbornly. "There's no point."

"Yeah, there is a point," Two-Bit said steadily.

"What?"

"Darry." He said it like it was the most obviously thing in the world.

Pony looked at him, confused. "What d'you mean?"

"If you don't want to go for you, you should at least go for Darry," Two-Bit said simply. "It means a lot to him that despite everything you are still graduating high school and you're goin' to that community college in the fall." When applying to colleges Pony hadn't wanted to apply to anything too far away, preferring to be able to commute to school and Darry hadn't pushed the matter. It seemed even more important to stay together after everything that had happened.

"Yeah, well I'll still get my diploma," Pony said sullenly.

Two-Bit shook his head. "That's not all that it's about, Pony," he said. "It's about doin' somethin' normal for a while. It's about not sulking around the house all day today of all days. We're all proud of you Pony. We always knew one day we'd see you in that cap and gown. Don't downplay this, if not for your own sake then for ours." He paused and saw Pony still hesitating. "C'mon, don't make me pay you to go," he said lightly. "'Cause I'm not above that, you know."

Pony was quiet for a minute. Slowly he sat up. "Is Darry really upset 'cause I don't wanna go?" he asked slowly.

"Yeah, he is, kid," Two-Bit said honestly.

"I guess maybe it won't be so bad if I go," he finally admitted.

Two-Bit gave him a smile. "Good," he said with a satisfied grin. He stood up and headed for the door, but hesitated as he reached for the handle, growing serious once again. "You know, wherever Soda is right now, he's proud of you too." He hoped that he wasn't pushing his luck.

Pony didn't respond and Two-Bit didn't turn to see what kind of reaction he had to the statement. He turned the doorknob and walked back out of the room, closing it again behind him to give Pony some privacy while he got ready.

"Well?" Darry asked as Two-Bit reentered the kitchen. He was still sitting at the table and Steve was leaning up against the counter sipping on a mug of coffee.

"He's gettin' ready," Two-Bit said simply as he sat down at the table. "He'll be out in a few minutes."

"He's goin'?" Darry said, disbelief in his voice.

"He's goin'," Two-Bit confirmed.

"How'd you manage that?" he asked, sounding slightly dumbstruck.

Two-Bit shrugged lazily. "I'm a people person," he said with a grin.

"You paid him to go, didn't you," Steve accused.

Two-Bit shot him a mock glare. "Hey, I take offense to that," he said.

"You did, didn't you?" Steve said.

"No!" Two-Bit said. "Well. I might have mentioned it. But it was my charming personality that finally convinced him." Steve simply rolled his eyes at that.

They hung around quietly for a few minutes. They all heard the door down the hall opening and turned as Pony made his appearance in the kitchen, his black graduation gown a little oversized for his small form and his graduation cap help loosely in his hand.

"I look stupid," Pony mumbled, looking down at his shoes, seeming a bit embarrassed.

Darry was smiling at him, pride evident in his eyes as he looked at his youngest brother. "No you don't," he assured him.

Pony looked up at him and gave him a tentative smile. For just a moment it seemed that everything else was forgotten. Nothing else mattered, not even the war still raging on the other side of the world. For just that moment they forgot to be sad about who wasn't there with them and were able to be happy for the people who were still here.

XxXxX

_**Vietnam**_

_Air, air, AIR!_

This mind screamed at him but no matter how much he struggled his head was held firmly under the ice-cold water by one of the guards. Suddenly he could feel water entering his lungs and he started fading away from consciousness, his muscles slowly relaxing against his will. Then suddenly he was coughing on the floor, not even aware of how or when he had gotten there.

Despite the glorious air filling his lungs again he could feel himself beginning to pass out. Then all of a sudden he was screaming in agony, every nerve in his body on fire. He looked around frantically trying to figure out what had happened and where the pain had come from. There was a soldier standing over him laughing, an empty bucket in his hand. Then Soda could vaguely taste it on his lips. Salt water. They had poured salt water over the gashes on his back from the whipping he had endured earlier.

After he had been taken out of his cell for Daniels' interrogation, he had been put back in isolation for a little our four months. The solitude was really starting to get to him. The heat of the summer seeped into his cell and caused severe dehydration despite his daily rations of water. He started hallucinating, dreaming that he was home again only to have to come to the painful realization that it was only imagined. It really started to mess with his mind and eventually he wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't.

After four months of complete isolation he was forcibly dragged from his cell again. He was tortured brutally in front of another American soldier in order to get information. This American solider held out longer than the first had and Soda eventually lost consciousness due to the vicious beatings. When he woke again he was back in his baking hot cell. His shoulder was dislocated and he could barely move with his body severely bruised, many of his ribs broken, and the skin on his back ripped to ribbons. He spent over two weeks in agony as he tried in vain to pop his own shoulder back into socket. He had sobbed openly in relief when he finally felt the joint reconnect and the excruciating pain dulled, thanking any deity that may have been looking over him that day.

As the months continued to pass Soda was taken out of his cell more and more often to help persuade other American soldiers to give up information. He began to loathe himself for what they used him for. It made him feel small and weak, merely a pawn in this larger game they played. All of the other prisoners had at least ten years on him. Even though he had turned twenty some time in the past few months, this place made him feel more and more like a child. A few times they tried to get information out of him, but he didn't have much to give which resulted in even worse beatings.

Eight months had now passed since that first torture session. Earlier that day he had been brought into Daniels' interrogation session again, the first time he had seen him since he had first been tortured. Daniels had given in fairly quickly with his false information, and Soda felt grateful for that. But his relief didn't last long. As Daniels was taken from the room some of the other guards apparently decided to keep Soda and continue torturing him, though they never demanded any information from him. It was almost as if they were bored and simply looking to pass the time. And the intensity of this torture was quickly escalating past anything he had ever endured before. He found himself praying for death when even passing out failed to bring any relief as they kept pouring salt water over his open wounds.

He was half delirious with pain as he felt someone take his arm and lift it up. For just a moment he allowed himself to think someone was going to help him up off the floor and take him away from here. Then the pain erupted in his shoulder causing him to cry out horribly. He began to panic as he realized that they had pulled his shoulder out of socket again. He remembered the weeks of horrible pain he had endured last time and he felt like if there had been anything in his stomach he would have been violently ill at the thought of going through it again.

Suddenly the door to the room swung open and another guard walked in. There was some hushed conversation in Vietnamese and Soda gasped for breath on the floor, trying to keep as still as possible and feeling grateful for a break. There seemed to be some kind of argument going on but he couldn't bring himself to care much or even try and figure out what was going on. One of the soldiers walked over to him and suddenly stomped on his dislocated shoulder and even thought the pain was blinding Soda didn't have the energy to do anything more that moan weakly. Then to his surprise the soldier turned and walked away, followed by the others. Suddenly he was alone and he felt confused. Was that it? What was going to happen now?

He was barely conscious when he suddenly felt someone's presence near him, reaching out and touching his arm. He flinched and tried to move away, anticipating the burn of the salt water in his wounds at any second, but strangely it did not come.

"Easy there, Curtis." The voice was strangely familiar. "It's okay. They're gone."

Soda squinted his eyes open, fighting against the darkness that threatened to overtake him. It took him several seconds to figure out what he was looking at. Daniels was crouched over him, checking his injuries. Soda had no idea how he had gotten in here, but it was a comfort to know that the torture was over at least for now.

"Can you hear me?" Soda couldn't find the will to speak, so he let out a low groan. "It's gonna be okay. I gotta set your shoulder before I can do anything else though." Soda automatically tensed at this as he squeezed his eyes shut, whimpering lightly despite himself. He could so vividly remember the two weeks of excruciating pain as he had tried to pop his own shoulder back in. "You gotta relax, it'll hurt less."

Soda found this to be an impossible task, but he did his best to focus on his own ragged breathing and willed his muscles to relax. He felt Daniels gently pulling on his arm. He felt sharp pain and cried out and involuntarily arched his back as his muscles tensed painfully. He could do nothing about the tears that gathered in his eyes. He had never been in this much pain before.

"Sorry," he heard Daniels mumble, sounding truly remorseful for causing him more pain. "Let me try again."

He felt the pressure on his arm as Daniels pulled it out away from his body again. This time there was a fluid motion of his shoulder moving out and then being pulled back in, popping easily back into the socket. Soda let out a sigh of relief as the pain immediately dulled.

"Thanks," Soda mumbled.

"Can you sit up?"

With Daniels' help he was able to slowly sit up and lean against the wall to remain sitting. Suddenly he was aware of Daniels placing a bowl in his hands. He looked down and saw the bowl was filled with water. He tried to lift the bowl but found that he didn't have the strength to lift it more than a few inches. Daniels reached over and helped him lift it up to his mouth and he was so thirsty that he tried to drink it too quickly. He choked a little and then began to panic, remembering how the guards had almost drowned him just minutes before.

"It's okay," Daniels assured him. "Just breath, it's okay."

Soda took in a few comforting breaths. As he began to calm down he looked up at Daniels. "What's goin' on?" he asked. "How are you here?"

Daniels sighed. "I could still hear you screaming after they took me back to my cell," he said. "I hear a lot of what goes on in here. I finally convinced them that I would give them more information if they stopped torturing you and let me in to see you."

Soda felt his stomach drop and he closed his eyes briefly. "Guess they're gettin' a lot of information 'cause of me."

"That's not your fault," Daniels said, sensing his despair. He lowered his voice in case anyone was listening. "Most of the information we give is false anyway. We're on our own in here. We all do what we can to survive. We do what we can so that someday, hopefully, we can go home."

Soda looked up at him, hearing how much he believed what he was saying. It had been a while since he really thought of home in a longing way. After over a year and a half it was hard to imagine actually going home. Daniels shifted so that he was sitting next to Soda, leaning up against the wall.

"This war isn't gonna last forever," he said, his voice sounding it was speaking from some far away place. "Someday it has to end. And when it does then we can go home."

"You so sure about that?" Soda asked skeptically.

"I am," Daniels said with conviction.

And that was when Soda realized how Daniels was able to seem so well-adjusted despite the circumstances. He had been captured almost three years ago, but he still held on to the hope of someday going home. That gave him a reason to keep going. Soda had such a hard time holding on to that hope. But he realized that somehow he had to if he wanted to survive this. Somehow he had to believe that someday he would be back home with Darry and Pony. Someday he would be hanging out at the DX with Steve and Two-Bit. Someday this torture would end.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **So I know the last chapter was a little intense. This one is much less intense, more reflective so you get a little break from that. Just so you know where we stand with this story, I have nine chapters mapped out (so two more after this one) and I'll probably add another one to make it an even ten when all is said and done. Also, fun fact: this is actually the first chapter I wrote for this prequel after I wrote _Days Slide and the Years Go By_. I added to it a lot the past few days to develop it more, but this was the original idea that sparked this story. So enjoy! And please review!

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**Chapter Seven**

_**Tulsa, Oklahoma**_

Pony felt heavy as he rolled over and looked at the clock. It was just about time to get up. He hadn't slept more than an hour or two the night before and he was exhausted. It was going to be a very long day. He could hear movement out in the kitchen and assumed Darry was already up. He wasn't sure how he was going to face him today of all days though.

But he knew he couldn't put it off forever. As much as he wanted to just stay in bed all day he knew that wasn't going to be an option. Darry would come looking for him eventually like he always did even when Pony didn't have to get up for school and he didn't want that. He felt bad for Darry and he knew he didn't help matters when he made Darry constantly have to pick him up out of a depression when Darry was just as devastated by the turn their lives had taken. The depression was still there but Pony was doing his best to hide it these days. He wasn't always successful, but the least he could do was drag himself out of bed.

Slowly he pulled himself out of bed. He forced himself to walk from the room and out into the hallway, padding quietly in his bare feet. He was aware of the sound of rain falling down on the roof. That seemed appropriate enough for his current mood, though he knew it would mean Darry would probably be home all day. He wasn't real sure how he felt about that today.

Darry turned to him as he entered the kitchen and gave him a weak smile. It was the same smile Pony had seen for the past year and a half. Ironically it was when Darry smiled you could see the most pain behind his eyes if you knew what to look for. It was like he was trying so hard to be happy but just by trying he was forced to acknowledge the reason he had to try so hard.

"Mornin', kiddo," he said.

"'Mornin'," Pony mumbled. As he took a seat at the kitchen table he noticed that Darry was making pancakes this morning.

"Happy birthday," he said, trying to muster up at least a little enthusiasm.

"Yeah, thanks," Pony said flatly, staring down at the table as his stomach turned a somersault.

"Thought you'd be more excited," Darry said slowly. "It's a big birthday after all."

"Yeah, eighteen," Pony said sullenly still staring down at the table, unable to meet Darry's gaze. "Drafting age. Yipee."

Darry sighed heavily, letting the strained smile fall off his face. He took the last of the pancakes off of the stove before moving over and taking a seat next to Pony. "You ain't gonna get drafted, Ponyboy," he said. "You're goin' to college in the fall." Despite the subject matter, Pony could still hear the pride in Darry's voice that he had whenever he mentioned college.

"Yeah…" Pony said slowly. Then he looked up at Darry seriously. "But you're not exempt anymore because of bein' my guardian. You could get drafted now…"He let the thought hang.

Darry paused for a moment. "Yeah, I guess you're right," he finally admitted. "We just gotta hope we get lucky."

"We ain't been so lucky so far," Pony mumbled. He bit his lip and looked back down at the table. "I… I can't lose you too, Darry."

Darry reached over and put an arm around his shoulders. "Don't think like that," he said. "It probably won't even happen. You can't live scared of what _might_ happen. If it does happen we'll deal with it then. For now we won't even consider it. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Pony said, though he didn't sound very convincing, even to himself.

"Now c'mon," Darry said, standing back up. "Let's try and enjoy some of your birthday, okay? It really is a big day and it's worth celebrating." He retrieved the pancakes and brought them to the table. Pony just looked at them for a moment, suddenly remembering a stack of green pancakes years ago that his other brother had made. His currently missing brother.

Darry and Pony didn't discuss Soda much as a general rule. It was just too difficult. There wasn't much to talk about anyway since they hadn't heard any news at all in the year and a half since they received the letter that said he was missing in action. But just then as he looked at the pancakes he just couldn't help it.

"I miss him," Pony said so quietly that it was almost a whisper.

Darry didn't need any clarification on who he was talking about. "Yeah… I miss him too," he said, a sadness in his voice that was rare to hear. Darry was usually so good at keeping his emotions in check.

"Do you… do you think he could still be out there? Somewhere?" Pony asked, looking up at him.

Darry sighed heavily. "I dunno," he admitted. "I'd like to think that he is… but after all this time… honestly Pony I don't think there's much chance." The pain was clear in his voice and it was apparent that saying that out loud cut him deep inside.

Pony looked back down at the table. "Yeah. I know that."

"But who knows," he said. "Maybe he is."

Pony nodded, knowing full well that Darry was only saying that for his benefit, just as Steve had done last year when Pony was asking about prisoners of war. They all wanted so badly to keep hoping but that was so difficult to do as time kept passing and they got no more news, good or bad. How long were they supposed to go on like this? Would they ever get some sort of peace from all of this? Would they ever know for sure what happened to his brother?

Pony forcibly pushed the thoughts out of his head as he reached out and took a bite of pancake. Darry may not have Soda's crazy sense of humor when it came to cooking, but he was definitely the better cook. "Thanks Darry," Pony said, doing his best to smile at his oldest brother.

"Happy Birthday, Pony," he reiterated with his own smile, and Pony wondered if his smile looked as pained as Darry's did right now.

XxXxX

_**Vietnam**_

Soda coughed hard, feeling the phlegm buildup in the back of throat almost choking him. He had noticed he had felt feverish the past few days. He must be sick again. The welts on his back from his last lashing were throbbing and he had an aching that radiated through his bones. He lay limp on the scratchy blanket that served as his bed, his breathing shallow and ragged, too drained to move as he stared blankly at nothing in particular. Some days weren't so bad, but today he just felt awful. Today was one of the days where he wished they had just killed him instead of taking him prisoner.

At that thought he wondered vaguely how long it had been. Time was getting so hard to keep track of these days. He knew that a year had gone by. In fact it had gone by a while ago. He had nothing but time on his hands so he decided to try and figure out exactly how long it had been in order to pass some time. He knew he had been captured at the beginning of September in 1969. He had spent four months in the first prison camp. Then the march to the next camp had taken five months. Nine months of his life gone. He began counting the days he had been here. Days that turned into weeks, weeks that turned into months. All this time that he would never get back.

Suddenly he began counting more slowly, a strange feeling coming over him as he got closer to the actual date. It couldn't be… could it? Was he right? Was today really the day he thought it was? He knew he probably didn't have the exact date right, but it had to be around that date… didn't it?

His thoughts were interrupted by a rattling sound outside of his cell. He snapped his gaze to the door as it was yanked open, sending a bright light streaming into his darkened cell. He squinted against it, barely able to make out a guard bringing in a bowl of rice and a bowl of water. They had been less strict about keeping him completely isolated these days, and Soda found himself thankful for that. Just seeing another person at least once a day and even the little bit of light that would briefly flood his cell made him feel just a little more human.

"What day is it?" Soda croaked, his voice catching in his throat. Not every guard spoke English and when the guard stared at him he was afraid that this was one of those guards that didn't. Even if he did speak English many of the guards would simply beat him for trying to speak to them when they brought him food or water. But he was desperate for just this small piece of information. "Please," he tried again, practically begging as the guard placed the bowls next to him. He was grateful for this if nothing else. He wasn't feeling up to moving across the small cell to retrieve his meager rations. "What day is it?"

"June," the guard said stiffly, looking down at him strangely. His expression looked a bit like a cockroach had suddenly spoken to him – disgusted yet intrigued.

"The date," Soda coughed. "Please, what's the date?"

"Twenty-two," the guard answered.

Soda felt the air leaving his lungs in a pained hiss. So he had been right. He did his best to hold onto what little composure he had until the guard had walked from the cell and slammed the door behind him, the clang of metal echoing behind him. As soon he was alone he squeezed his eyes closed and let out a choked sob.

It was June 22, 1971. Ponyboy's eighteenth birthday. It crushed him that he wasn't there with his little brother to celebrate his birthday. They had always made big deals out of birthdays, going all out as much as they were able to. Their parents had always been enthusiastic about birthday and that was something the brothers had carried on with even after their parents were gone. He wondered what Darry and Pony were doing right now. Were they celebrating? Did Darry bake a chocolate cake? Were they thinking of him at all? Or did they think he was dead?

Once the dam was opened he couldn't stop the thoughts from overwhelming him. The sobs wracked through his entire body as he rolled on his side and curled in on himself as if he could somehow protect himself from this pain. Oh how he wished he were with his brothers right now. Oh how he wished he could simply tell his brother happy birthday. It wasn't fair. He never even wanted to be over here in the first place.

Ponyboy was eighteen now. That was how old Soda had been when he was drafted and forced to leave his family. Would Ponyboy be drafted as well? That thought was horrifying. He quickly pushed it out of his head. No, more likely Pony would be going to college soon. It suddenly hit him that Pony had probably graduated high school just a few weeks ago. He must have gotten into college with how hard he had worked. Would he get to see Pony graduate from college someday? Would he get to tell him that he was proud of him?

And what about Darry? Was he still working all the time? Was he keeping everyone going like he did after their parents died and after Dally and Johnny died? He was always there to support everyone, but Soda knew that Darry felt just as much as the rest of them. Darry had cried after finally getting Pony back after he had disappeared for a week. Soda had been missing much more than a week. Had Darry cried? Had he mourned as if Soda were already dead and gone? Or did he still have the hope that Soda himself had a hard time holding on to? The hope that someday Soda would make it back home again.

Then he thought of Steve. He was supposed to have returned home over a year ago now, in March of last year, just like Soda should have. Had he made it home? Did he survive the war? In just the few months Soda had spent actually on the battlefield he knew how dangerous it was and how easily the guy standing next to you could be taken from this world in the blink of an eye. He desperately hoped that Steve was safely back in Tulsa right now and wasn't too scarred from the battlefield. And he desperately hoped that Steve hadn't landed himself in some kind of hell like Soda had.

While he was on that train of thought, he turned his thoughts to Two-Bit. The happy-go-lucky one of the group. The one who was always grinning and cracking jokes. The one who Soda could remember being grim and stoic at Johnny and Dally's funerals. How was he dealing with Soda's disappearance? Was he still cracking jokes and trying to get everyone to laugh? Soda hoped so. He hoped that everyone back home was still living their lives. Even if he couldn't be with them right now.

He wondered vaguely what the military had told them about him. Had they told them that he was missing in action? Did they tell them he had been captured by the enemy? Somehow Soda found that hard to believe. No one had been around that day he had been captured. No one had seen it happen. Maybe they had just assumed that he was dead. Could they do that even if there wasn't a body as proof? What if they had told his family that he was dead? Maybe they already had a funeral… buried an empty casket… put up a tombstone with his name on it next to their parents' graves. The image made Soda sick to his stomach but then he thought maybe he was just being selfish. Maybe it would be easier for them if they simply believed that he was gone forever rather than waiting and wondering. At least then they could move on with their lives.

He prayed for peace for his brothers and for his friends. But he knew the only real peace he could ever feel would be if he were to someday return to them. Even if he died here somehow he knew that he wouldn't truly be at rest. He needed to go home more than anything. He had lost a year and a half of his life already. Even if he was trapped here for a few more years – though the thought made him shutter – if he could just make it home, back to his family, maybe someday things could be okay again. Maybe someday he could find peace again.

Soda took in a shuttering breath, feeling his throat burn. "Happy Birthday, Ponyboy," he whispered quietly to himself. He felt fresh tears streaking down his cheeks and he squeezed his eyes shut against them. "Happy Birthday, little brother."


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: Okay, next chapter! This chapter is all Tulsa. I'm still debating on whether there are going to be two or three more chapters. I do know that the last two chapters will be mostly Soda though. Please review and let me know what you think!

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**Chapter Eight**

_**Tulsa, Oklahoma**_

_Darry was moving through a thick forest, trees pushing in on all sides and blocking almost all the sunlight. He ran hard, gasping for breath, knowing he had to get somewhere but with no idea where that was. It was somewhere important though. Real important. And he had to get there as fast as he could._

"_Darry!" He ran faster, pushing himself as hard as he could go. "Darry! Help! Help me!"_

_There was pure terror in that familiar voice. A terror he had never heard before from anyone. He had to get to the source of the voice, but somehow it felt like he was going around in circles. _

_Just as he was convinced that he wasn't making any progress toward the source of the voice he suddenly burst out into a clearing and came to an abrupt halt, everything around him suddenly freezing in place. He surveyed the area. There was a solid circle of tall trees around him, bright sunlight streaming down through opening above him. It gave him a clear view of the sickening scene in front of him. _

_It was Sodapop. He hunched on the far side of the clearing. He was dressed in cameo patterned pants and a dark green t-shirt. When Darry had last seen him he had been eighteen years old, but now as he looked at him he seemed no older than fourteen or fifteen. He was on his knees and doubled over, his hands bound behind his back. _

"_Soda!" Darry gasped. He knew he should go to him, but somehow his legs wouldn't work and he just stood there. _

_Slowly Soda lifted his head up, his body coming up with it though he still remained on his knees. As he looked up suddenly everything changed. Soda's clothes were in tatters and there was blood everywhere. Gashes on his face, on his chest, a pool of blood that he knelt in. Still even as he looked at the gruesome image Darry found that he could not move. _

"_Darry!" Soda coughed. His eyes were so vivid, begging him for relief. "Please Darry. Please help me! They're hurting me. I need your help! Please!"_

"_I… I don't know how!" Darry shuttered, his eyes wide with shock at what he was seeing. "I don't know what to do!"_

_Soda coughed miserably. "I need you to save me Darry. Please. Please don't leave me here."_

"_I ain't gonna leave you," Darry said, trying to be reassuring but his voice shook violently. "I promise, I'm right here."_

"_It hurts Darry." Soda was quickly dissolving into sobs. The sight was heart wrenching. "It hurts so much. Why won't you help me? Why can't you save me?"_

"_I'm sorry, Soda," Darry said brokenly. The feeling of helplessness was overwhelming. "I'm so sorry, I… I can't."_

_Suddenly out of nowhere men came out of the forest, suddenly surrounding Soda, cutting him off from view. Soda screamed, calling desperately for Darry but Darry found that no matter what he did, he could not move. _

"Soda!"

Darry sat bolt upright; sweat pouring down his face as he gasped for breath as if he had actually been running. He was surrounded by darkness and it took a moment for him to realize that he was in his bed at home. Despite himself, there were tears in his eyes. He didn't bother to wipe them away.

This wasn't the first nightmare he had that involved Soda and he knew that it probably wouldn't be the last either. Most of his nights had been restless since they received the letter telling them that Soda had gone missing in action. As time went on Darry figured that it would become easier to deal with. But almost three years had passed and he still was hard pressed for a good night's sleep.

Darry was startled as there was a light knocking on his door. A moment later the door slowly creaked open. Pony stuck his head in, looking a bit unsure.

"Darry?" he said. "You okay?"

Darry nodded vaguely. "Sorry kiddo. Did I wake you?"

Pony nodded, his expression guarded. "You were yelling," he said. He looked down at the floor. "You yelled Soda's name."

Darry sighed as he ran a hand over his face. "Sorry," he mumbled. Then he looked up at Pony who was still standing awkwardly in the doorway. "You should go back to bed. You got school in the morning."

"I don't got any early classes," Pony pointed out. Pony had just started his second year at a local community college.

"Still," Darry said. He felt awkward with his little brother seeing him like this. "You should get some rest."

"You should too," Pony said.

"I will," Darry tried to assure him, even though he knew from experience that he probably wouldn't.

Pony didn't look like he believed him. For a moment Darry thought he was going to come into the room, but then he seemed to think better of it. Somehow he had felt distanced from Pony over the last year or so, though he really didn't know why. He supposed they were both a little lost in their own grief over their brother. The longer they went without news the more of a toll it seemed to take on them.

"Okay," Pony allowed as he turned from the room, carefully closing the door behind him.

Alone in his room again Darry let out a sigh as he lay back down. His heart was still pounding with the adrenaline from the nightmare. He did his best to calm himself and go back to sleep but every time he closed his eyes he could see Soda's bloodied form on the floor of the jungle.

Darry rested fitfully the rest of the night. Eventually he was watching the light creeping in through his window as morning came upon them. He sighed. It was about time to get up anyway.

He was still blinking sleepily as he dragged himself out of bed and headed down the hall. The first thing he did in the kitchen was start up the coffee maker. He moved around the house and went to collect the newspaper from the front porch. As he waited for the coffee to brew he opened up the paper at the kitchen table. The front page was covered with updates on the war as usual. Darry took one look at it before taking the page and crumpling it into a ball and throwing it to the floor with more force than necessary.

"'Morning."

Darry whipped around to see Pony standing in the doorway. By the look on his face it was obvious that he had seen Darry's behavior.

"Hey," Darry said flatly, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he turned back to the rest of the newspaper.

"You look awfully tired," Pony said carefully as he sat at the table across from him. "Did you sleep much?"

Darry glanced at him briefly. "I slept enough."

"Maybe you should stay home from work today," Pony suggested.

Darry immediately shook his head, keeping his eyes trained on the newspaper. "No, I'm fine." He couldn't think of anything worse than sitting around the empty house all day.

"You don't look fine," Pony said skeptically.

"Well, I am." Darry was quickly getting annoyed and didn't know why Pony was being so pushy today. Pony sighed tiredly as he stood back up and started getting his breakfast ready. Darry decided to try for some civil conversation. "What are you doin' up so early anyway? I thought you didn't have any early classes today."

"I don't," Pony said. He brought a glass of chocolate milk to the table for himself as he set a mug of coffee in front of Darry. He hadn't even noticed it had finished brewing. "I couldn't sleep either."

There was silence. It was the same uncomfortable silence that now accompanied anything that reminded them of Soda's disappearance. Darry knew full well that Pony rarely slept well either and it was for the same reason that Darry couldn't. They hadn't outright spoken about Soda in months, save for the one mention that Pony made the night before.

The silence was shattered by the front door opening and then closing again. Darry and Pony both shifted in their seats as if they could brush off the haze of depression that hung around them.

"'Mornin' Curtises," Two-Bit said with a grin as he entered the kitchen with a moody looking Steve in tow. Steve always looked moody these days though. Darry and Pony were still both sharing the truck, so on days where Pony had classes Two-Bit would come over and give Darry a ride to work so that Pony could drive the truck to school. Even though he had his own car, Steve tended to get rides from Two-Bit as well. Though they didn't talk about it, the real reason for this was because after his bout with alcohol poisoning last year they were all a bit nervous to leave Steve on his own for too long.

Darry and Pony both grunted their greetings. Darry felt distracted as Two-Bit started talking to Pony about something, Steve sulking in the corner. There was something that had been playing at the back of his mind for the past few weeks. But he had no idea how to bring it up. He had started to say something to Pony about it several times, but always ended up thinking better of it. But he couldn't keep it bottled up forever. And he felt that it was appropriate that both Steve and Two-Bit were here to hear it as well. They might not be family by blood, but with so few of them left the four of them were more like family than ever.

"Pony?" Darry said, putting down the newspaper and looking carefully at his youngest brother. His only biological brother at this point it seemed. Pony looked over at him skeptically, as if sensing already that he wasn't going to like where this conversation was going to go. Two-Bit grew quiet and even Steve perked up slightly in order to listen better. Darry paused and took in a steady breath. "What would you think if we put up a gravestone for Soda?" He couldn't help the pain in his voice as he said it.

Two-Bit's expression immediately turned serious. Steve's face darkened. Pony looked down at the table, seeming to study his glass of chocolate milk. As Darry watched him he couldn't help but think that even though he was nineteen he still seemed so much like a child sometimes. He was quiet for several minutes. Then he looked back up at Darry with hurt in his eyes, almost as if Darry had hit him. "How can you just give up on Soda like that?" He didn't sound angry, but rather depressed and hurt at the thought.

"We can't go on like this," Darry implored. "We need some sort of closure, don't you think?"

"An empty grave ain't gonna bring any closure," Pony said stubbornly.

"It would give us a chance to really say goodbye," Darry tried. He glanced around at Two-Bit and Steve. "All of us. It would give us a chance to really start moving on with our lives."

"To hell with you, Darry," Steve suddenly growled.

Darry turned and glared at him, too tired to deal with his attitude today. "You're not the only one hurtin', you know," he said a bit harshly. "We all miss Soda, but you know he probably ain't comin' back and we need to deal with that."

"How can you say that?" Pony demanded, shock and confusion on his face.

But now that his walls were down suddenly Darry just couldn't reel in his emotions. He turned on Pony, angry. "It's been almost three damn years with no news. You really think he's comin' back from that?"

"Darry," Two-Bit said, pain in his voice as he stepped toward him and reached out a hand as if to try and comfort him.

But Darry pulled away from him, suddenly pushing his chair out and standing up, intending to storm out of the room. Steve got in his way though.

"I'm so sick of you!" Steve spat. "There's no one left to take care of Darry. Pony's grown up, Soda's gone. So stop actin' like you can't let your emotions through, like you have to be strong for someone. Newsflash: there ain't nobody left to be strong for."

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" Darry demanded, though his words had felt like a punch to the stomach.

"Just be fuckin' honest!" Steve raged. "You try and make it seem like you're tryin' to do something for someone else. You're not suggesting it for Pony's sake or mine or Two-Bit's. It's for _your_ sake! You talk about dealin' with things, but it's you who can't deal with somethin' that's out of your control. You can't handle the idea that he might still be out there so it's easier for you to just believe he's _dead_!"

"Shut up!"

"Imagine if he does come back, only to realize that _you_ gave up on him!" Steve went on. "Imagine if he comes home to find that there's a gravestone with his name on it in the goddamn cemetery! He will _hate_ you for that!"

Something snapped. The next thing he knew Steve was on the floor cursing up a storm with blood streaming from his nose. Darry's hand throbbed. Two-Bit was at his side, holding tightly on to him as if to hold him back. Pony had half risen from his seat and frozen, eyes wide with shock.

"You shut your mouth!" Darry raged.

"It's the truth!" Steve yelled back.

"At least I'm not the one landed myself in the hospital after tryin' to drink all my emotions away," Darry shot back.

"At least I'm honest about how much it hurts that Soda didn't come back like he was supposed to! I'm not walking' around tryin' to convince everyone that I'm fine!"

"You don't think it _hurts_ me?" Darry demanded. "It hurts worse than anythin' I've ever felt before. It hurts worse than when we lost our parents. He's my little brother, for God's sake! I'm supposed to take care of him and now I can't and that absolutely _kills_ me! But if I let that run my life then everythin' is gonna fall apart!" As he worked himself up his vision clouded over with tears that would not fall. "I can't sleep and when I do I have nightmares about how he's either hurt or dead. 'Cause I'll tell you this, if he ain't dead then after all this time he sure as hell ain't okay. So yeah, maybe I am selfish. Maybe it's easier to believe that Soda is gone but at peace rather than thinking he might still be suffering out there."

There was a ringing silence in the room. Steve just stared, dumbstruck. Two-Bit's grip suddenly disappeared as he looked somber. And as he turned he could see that Pony looked shocked and a bit like he might cry. Darry turned and stormed from the room. As he entered his bedroom he slammed the door loudly, not caring that it made him seem like a child. The noise was comforting somehow. He sat on his bed and buried his head in his hands. He didn't care about going to work. He didn't care about anything right now. All he wanted to do was crawl under the covers and never move again.

It was twenty minutes later when there was a tentative knock at the door. Darry didn't move and after a minute the door opened anyway. He glanced up and was a little surprised to see Pony standing in the doorway. Honestly he had been expecting Two-Bit.

"You okay?" Pony asked carefully.

"Are any of us okay?" Darry mumbled.

There was an awkward silence. Pony hovered in the doorway, seeming unsure if he should actually enter the room much like he had the night before. He took in a breath. "D'you… D'you really hope that Soda is… that Soda is dead?" It was clear that is was really difficult for him to ask the question and his voice shook with unshed tears.

Darry sighed. All his anger had evaporated and he was left with an empty feeling in his chest. "I dunno, Pony," he admitted. "But some days… it does seem like it would be easier that way."

"But… what if he comes back?" Pony implored, almost desperately.

Darry looked up at him. "Pony… I want him to come home more than anythin' in the world. Nothin' would make me happier than to have him back here with us again. I'm just… havin' a hard time seein' how that could happen."

Pony looked at him carefully. "I think it could still happen," he said quietly.

Darry gave him a weak smile. "I'm glad," he said. "Pony… don't lose that hope. Okay?"

"It's hard sometimes," Pony mumbled. "To keep hoping."

"Yeah," Darry said tiredly, a hint of defeat in his tone. "Boy, do I know that."

"I mean, you weren't wrong," Pony said slowly. "What you said back there. It's been almost three years… if he ain't gone then… then he probably ain't okay." He looked up at Darry with pain in his eyes. "It's like we can't win at this point. No matter what happens."

Darry felt a pang of guilt, knowing that he caused this. "C'mere," he invited. Pony hesitated for a second before stepping into the room. He sat down on the bed next to Darry. "All of this has been hard on all of us, Pony. And I ain't perfect. I know I'm supposed to be the calm one, but this hurts me too. It's not fair that he's not here with us and it's especially not fair that we don't even know for sure what's happened to him."

"You don't have to be perfect, you know," Pony said slowly. "I ain't a kid anymore."

"You're always gonna be a kid to me, Pony," Darry said with a small smile.

"So… what do we do?" Pony asked.

Darry sighed. "I was out of line suggesting we should put up a gravestone when we don't know for sure," he admitted. "So… we keep hoping." He paused. "But if the war ends and there's still no news, it might be worth revisiting the subject. Don't you think?"

Pony paused as he considered this and then nodded. "I think that's fair," he admitted. Darry nodded, feeling relieved. Then Pony went on. "Steve was way more out of line than you were though. Soda would never hate you. Steve was just angry."

"Thanks, Pony," Darry said sincerely. Even though they were all very much acquainted with Steve's temper these days, it was still really nice to hear the reassurance from his brother.

It was painful to keep hoping Soda was still out there somewhere. It toyed with all their sanity and it seemed like they were always teetering on the edge of falling apart. Sometimes the thread that held what was left of their gang together seemed thin. Darry knew that Steve was likely to avoid the house for the next few days at least after what happened today. But he knew he'd eventually come back. As much as it hurt, it was that hope that kept them all going. Hope that someday the house won't seem so empty. Hope that someday they would feel more whole. Hope that someday they would walk into the house to find Soda's shoes by the door, his jacket on the floor and Sodapop himself lounging on the couch in the living room. As far-fetched as that seemed right now, it was what was keeping them going.

Maybe someday…


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** Okay here we go! Originally there were only going to be two more chapters to this story, but chapter nine was turning out too long and I was skimming through things to get through it, so I decided it would be better to split it into two chapters so that I have the freedom to go into more detail. So overall I'm planning for this story to have a total of eleven chapters when all is said and done. This chapter is all Soda, and it will be mostly Soda from here on out, but there will still be a little bit with the rest of the gang.

Also fair warning: this chapter is a little intense. Maybe one of the more intense chapters in this story. So brace yourselves! And don't forget to review!

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**Chapter Nine**

_**Vietnam**_

Soda was tied to a chair. The ropes were cutting into his wrists and restricting circulation to his hands, long ago making his fingers go numb. His shoulders burned from the effort of keeping his arms at such an unnatural angle. They had been alternating between whipping him and punching him. They had demanded some kind of information from him at the beginning, but he had long ago forgotten what they had even asked. It didn't matter anyway. It's not like he had any useful information to give them anyway. If he had then he would have given it to them long ago. Anything to make this madness stop.

He was dizzy from pain and blood loss. His head rolled on his shoulders, his neck hardly even able to keep it upright anymore. Blood dripped from his head and down his back, pooling at his feet. The people around him seemed to have this strange floating quality to them. The room was mostly dark except for one extremely bright light that shined on him, hurting his eyes that were no longer used to light. Soda squinted through the pain, trying to keep track of the men around him in an attempt to anticipate where the next attack was going to come from so that he could brace himself. It didn't seem to be helping much though.

The soldiers had stepped away from him for a minute and Soda took it as a much needed break from the beating, gasping for breath and fighting for consciousness. He knew very well the consequences of falling unconscious before they were finished with him. Soda was aware of a commotion in the room but he could even begin to comprehend what was going on. Not yet anyway. A minute later the soldiers returned, placing something down by his feet.

As he gazed down at the box at his feet he found that it looked vaguely familiar, like something he had seen before. Despite all his years working at the DX it took him several minutes to recognize the car battery. Then he took in the two thick cables that were attached to the battery at one end, the other ends loose and stripped bare to the metal. The man who held the cables had gloves on. Somewhere in the back of his mind Soda knew what was about to happen but he wouldn't allow himself to think it.

The solider stepped forward and touched the metal ends of the cable to Soda's bare chest. It was nothing like Soda had ever felt before. Every muscle in his body suddenly contracted painfully as the electricity shot through him, his knees lifting up toward his chest and his shoulders pulling down toward the floor. Soda opened his mouth to scream but all that came out was a strangled cry. After probably only a few seconds the cords were pulled away and Soda's muscles immediately released and he cried out horribly. After all the air had left his lungs and he couldn't scream anymore he gasped for breath. His entire body shook and he hung his head in an attempt to hide his tears. Slowly he became aware of his heart beating wildly out of control, feeling like it was about to burst right out of his chest.

For a few minutes there was nothing except for Soda's ragged breathing and the blood pounding in his ears. Then the solider stepped up again, a cruel smile on his face.

"No… no please," Soda panted as he shook his head, looking up at the man in front of him. In the three years and some months since he had been captured Soda had never once begged like this. He had always taken his beatings and torture in as much silence as he could manage. But this was too much. "Please, don't, please."

Unsurprisingly they ignored his pleas. The metal connected with his chest again and pain coursed through his entire body as every muscles contracted horribly so much so that he couldn't even cry out until the cords were taken away again. Once he could breathe again he cried out so loud that his voice cracked. His heart was beating irregularly now and he was truly afraid of what kind of damage was being done to it. He knew full well that if they electrocuted him long enough he would die.

As the solider came at him a third time he made a panicked noise as he pushed back with his feet, toppling the chair over so that it crashed to the floor. It was a futile attempt at escape since he was still tied to the chair. His hands were tied to the bars on the back of the chair and when he fell his left hand ended up smashed between the bar and the concrete floor. The pain was so intense he wondered vaguely if it had broken. Two soldiers were immediately on him, hauling the chair back upright with him still tied to it despite his weak protests.

"No!" Soda screamed as the guard with the cards came at him again, raw fear in his voice. He was desperate. _I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die, not like this,_ he kept repeating to himself. He knew that Daniels' cell wasn't far away and he had been able to save him once before. He knew his begging wouldn't sway his torturers, but perhaps he could somehow get Daniels' attention. Maybe he could help him again before they killed him. "Please!"

Anything else he might have said was cut off as the cord connected with his chest once more and in what he would later think of as a miracle of someone watching over him, before he could feel any pain he blacked out.

He must not have been out long because the next thing he knew he was being pulled to his feet. His whole body was shaking badly and his heart was still beating hard and at odd intervals. He couldn't hold himself up and fell slack as a soldier on each side of him took hold of his arms. They dragged him out of the room and started down the hallway. Through the haze in his mind he heard someone yelling to him.

"Curtis! Curtis, can you hear me? Curtis!"

Using all his effort he lifted his head and spotted Daniels. There was a small opening with bars in the door to his cell and he was pressed up against them, looking out onto the scene in the hallway. By the look on his face Soda could tell how bad he looked. But there was a certain amount of relief in his eyes as Soda lifted his head. Had the thought he was dead?

Daniels proceeded to curse the North Vietnamese with every unmentionable name under the sun. Two of the soldiers started toward his cell, murderous looks on their faces. Soda tugged weakly against the men who held him, but to no avail. As they opened Daniels' cell and shoved him hard away from the door Soda pulled harder, but then a sharp pain flew through his chest and he gasped as he blacked out once more.

When he woke again he was on the floor in his cell. The floor felt cool against his hot skin. He was covered in a sheer of sweat from the ordeal. He glanced around the small space, hoping to find a bowl of water. His mouth was dry and his throat was raw. But the room was empty.

Suddenly his muscles contracted painfully, causing him to gasp in pain. Just a moment later they went slack again. Terror shot through him. He didn't understand what was happening. Frantically he looked around the room as if he would suddenly notice the car battery hidden somewhere, still tormenting him. He checked his body but there were no cables. Just two angry looking red marks on his chest where the electricity had burned him.

Several minutes later the episode repeated itself. Soda whimpered quietly to himself, allowing himself the small freedom of expressing his distress now that he was alone in his cell. Just when he thought things in this hell couldn't get any worse… they did.

At first these kinds of episodes repeated themselves every few minutes, torturing Soda even when he was alone in his cell. Thankfully, though, as time passed the spasms began to occur less and less. However his muscles still ached constantly as if he had just run ten miles. Any time he tried to move he would feel the sharp pain from the burns on his chest. His left hand hurt from where he had fallen on it, but he could still move his fingers a bit so he figured it probably wasn't broken. At one point he tried to pull himself over to the cloth on the other side of the cell that served as his bed, but couldn't make it more than a few inches before the pain became too much. So he lay limply in the middle of the cell, fading in and out of consciousness as he lost all track of time.

He finally awoke to find two bowls by the door to the cell. Taking a breath and realizing that he desperately needed water he slowly and painfully pushed himself across the floor until he could reach out and pull the water bowl over to him. He struggled, but managed to swallow some of the water. Before he was finished he was hit by another fit of spams and the rest of the water spilled out across the floor. In a sudden spark of anger he threw the empty bowl away from him, listening to it clatter across the room his a morbid satisfaction. He didn't bother with any of the food as he rolled himself away from it. Despite his perpetually malnourished state, he had no appetite and didn't think he'd be able to keep anything down right now.

As the days went on Soda's will to go on slowly began deteriorating. His whole body still hurt from the ordeal with the car battery and the angry, horrible burns on his chest severely restricted his movement. After the incident with the water he stopped even bothering with any of the food or water he was brought. Mostly he just didn't have the energy but also some small part of him wanted to give up trying to survive. He just wanted this to be over.

Something strange happened then. After leaving the bowls untouched the guards suddenly seemed distressed. They would yell things at him in Vietnamese and point to the bowls. Soda would just stare blankly at them. They seemed angry that he had stopped eating. He really couldn't imagine why they would care so much. But as he watched this something was slowly dawning in his sluggish mind. Suddenly he had power. If him not eating upset them he could suddenly see a way that he could rebel against them.

At one point a guard entered his cell and attempted to force him to eat. He had some bread that he would try to shove into Soda's mouth, but Soda kept spitting it back at him. He yelled angrily at him in Vietnamese and Soda spat a few Vietnamese curse words that he remembered from his time with the South Vietnamese prisoners back at him. The more they tried to force Soda to eat the more he resisted, despite his own waning strength. He refused to give in. This was all he had left to fight with.

Soda wasn't sure how much time had passed but it had to have been a few days when something else unexpected happened. The door to his cell opened, but instead of a Vietnamese solider, it was Daniels who walked in. Soda watched him from where he lay on the floor, not even having the energy to sit up anymore. The door was closed behind him and Soda could hear it being locked. Daniels walked over to him and as he crouched down he could see that his face was all cut and bruised. It hadn't been like that when he had seen him after his last torture session. Soda suspected that happened when the guards went in his cell after he had insulted them.

"Hey Curtis," he said gently. "How you holdin' up?"

Soda moaned lightly, confused. "What're you doin' here?" His voice sounded weak and just those few words seemed to take all the air out of him. He was having a hard time concentrating and as he looked up at him Daniels' features were slipping in and out of focus.

"The guards brought me here," he said. "They said you weren't eating. They said they wanted me to make you eat."

"What do they care?" Soda mumbled darkly.

Daniels shook his head. "Honestly, I have no idea why they care." He sounded truly mystified by the situation. "It's been really… quiet lately. I haven't heard anyone in that room since you." He looked down at Soda and seemed to take in his injuries for the first time. "Jesus. What did they do?"

"Car battery," Soda mumbled, unable to elaborate any further.

Daniels swore. Then he paused, seeming deep in thought for a minute. "I don't blame you for wanting to give up, you know. But you've made it this far. I figure might as well see this out to the end." Soda was quiet. He didn't want to give up his power. This was all he had left to fight with. But he didn't want to admit that out loud. He didn't want Daniels to think of him as a coward. "You got any family back home, Curtis?"

Soda felt his heart twist painfully. There hadn't been a single day that had passed where he hadn't thought of Pony and Darry. "A little brother… and an older brother." He felt tears welling up in his eyes at just the thought of them. Sometime long ago he had accepted that he would probably never see them again. "They probably think I'm dead."

"Then think of how happy they'll be when they find out you're not," Daniels pointed out.

_"You will go home. I feel it." _He could suddenly hear Bao's voice echoing in his head. It had been a long time since he had thought of Bao. He remembered how sure Bao had sounded; he had always been so confident that Soda would make it home again.

"I don't think I can," Soda whispered brokenly.

"You're not alone in this, Curtis," Daniels said sympathetically. "We're all fighting to make it through this. You can too."

"_You strong. You make it through." _Bao's words again.

"If I give in then they win," Soda tried stubbornly.

"No," Daniels said evenly, shaking his head. "If you give _up_, they win. But if you stay alive and make it home… I can think of no better victory."

Soda thought this over for several minutes. Then, taking a painful breath, he slowly turned and reached out to where the bowls of food and water lay. He would endure this hell for a hundred years if it meant he could see his brothers just one more time, even just for a few minutes. He wanted to know if Pony had gotten into college, he wanted to know if Darry was still working too hard. He wanted to tell them how much he loved them.

"C'mon, sit up," Daniels urged as Soda struggled with the bowls.

Soda tried to push himself up but for all the good it did he might as well not even have any arms. He had never felt so weak before. Daniels reached over and carefully pulled him up and Soda cried out as the motion aggravated the burns on his chest. As Daniels helped him eat he could feel some of his strength returning. He suddenly realized that his body wouldn't have lasted another day or two of this self-inflicted starvation.

After Soda had managed to consume the food and water he and Daniels sat next to each other, leaning up against the wall of the cell. The guards didn't come back for him right away, so they had time to just talk. Ever since Soda had first seen Daniels in that first torture session about two and a half years ago they had only seen each other three times. And yet they still had formed a bond of sorts. Despite the connection, though, they barely knew anything about each other.

Soda found out that Daniels was from a small town in Illinois. He had lived there his entire life. He had a wife back home and a daughter who would be five years old by now. Her name was Lucy. He used to keep a picture of her in his boot, but it had long ago been taken from him. He had been captured on his fourth tour in Vietnam. He had spent his entire time in this prison camp, and was shocked when Soda had told him about the first camp he had been in.

"How old are you now?" Daniels asked him.

Soda was quiet for a minute, a little disturbed that the answer didn't come to him right away. "Twenty-one?" he said unsurely as he thought about it. "No… twenty-two. I think." He had no idea what month they were in, time had become too difficult to keep track of after the first couple years had passed by.

"Jesus," Daniels swore. "You shouldn't be here."

"Should any of us be here?" Soda pointed out tiredly.

"Good point," Daniels admitted. Just then they were cut off by the cell door scrapping open, a sound that ate at Soda's nerves these days so much so that he openly cringed. Daniels sighed heavily as he stood up to face the guard, knowing they were here to take him back to his own cell. He glanced back at Soda. "Keep fighting, kid." And with that he was gone.

After sitting in his solitude for a while Soda finally pulled himself to his feet and stumbled across the room. Slowly he lowered himself into the far corner where his "bed" lay. Any movement at all aggravated the burns on his chest and he moaned as he sat. Then he took a calming breath. As the pain in his chest burned through him, though, he couldn't help but feel afraid. It seemed there was no line that these soldiers weren't willing to cross. How much worse could this get? Soda put his knees up and curled into himself as if somehow he had the power to protect himself. He knew full well that he did not have that power. He was nothing more than a prisoner in this place.

He feared that door opening again. He feared how much worse this could get. But he now had a steely if somewhat grim resolve to endure. If there was a chance of seeing his brothers again – however unlikely – he wanted to hold on to that. He closed his eyes and tried to picture his brothers. The details of their features were less defined after all these years. He wondered how much different they looked now. He wondered if he would even be able to recognize them anymore. Three years and four months had passed since he had been captured, but it was closer to four years since he had last seen his family.

The now familiar tightening of his muscles hit him just then and he moaned as pain shot through his injuries at the sudden motion. It had been a least a day since he last had a spasm. He desperately hoped this would get better. Though somehow with how things were going… he suspected things were only going to get worse.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: Here we go! Now when I was writing this chapter I was listening to a song that fit very nicely, but I didn't want to put the lyrics are the beginning because I felt like it would give it away, so they are at the end. There will be one more chapter to tie everything in to the original one-shot. Please let me know what you think!

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**Chapter Ten**

_**Tulsa, Oklahoma**_

Ponyboy was in the campus bookstore where he worked before and after classes to help pay for his tuition. Every time the door opened the frigid January air blew in, causing him to shiver. He moved around the store, stocking books that they had just received in a shipment that morning. He found that he liked the physical labor rather than just sitting around behind the counter. It helped to distract him. After all this time it was still hard whenever his thoughts wandered to his missing brother and the war had been in the news more than ever lately, a painful reminder.

After Pony ran out of books to stock and couldn't find anything else to straighten up, he headed back to the counter where the register was. His coworker, Mark, was perched on the stool behind the register, his eyes on the small television that one of the store managers had brought in one day so that he could keep up with the news. It sat on a table just to one side of the counter.

"Would you stop watchin' that crap," Pony mumbled moodily as he saw that the news was on as usual.

Mark shrugged as he glanced at him. "It's the only thing on. President's about to make another speech or somethin'."

"Well then just shut it off," Pony pointed out as he leaned up against the counter.

"Ah, come on man," Mark said, rolling his eyes slightly. He had never really understood Pony's aversion to the news. Pony never spoke of his brother to anyone. It was still too difficult. "It's dead in here. At least it'll help pass the time."

"Fine," Pony said. He walked behind the counter and grabbed his jacket. "I'm gonna go out and smoke then. I'll come back in to help you close up."

"Sure," Mark said distractedly as he stared at the television.

Outside it was dark out. Pony leaned up against the store window, keeping close to the light. He carefully lit up, inhaling deeply. As he stood there he started to shiver with the bite of the winter air. He wished he had a thicker jacket or at least that he had thought to wear more layers. He held the cigarette in his lips and shoved his hands in his pockets in an attempt to warm them up, alternating which one he took out in order to exhale and flick away the ashes.

The time passed slowly and Pony turned his mind to his school work in order to occupy his thoughts. It was his second year in college and even though it was definitely harder than high school had been, he was still doing really well. He knew that Darry was really proud of him. It was hard to feel excited though. He still felt like there was a weight holding him down every single day that passed with no news. At this point Pony really didn't expect any news. At this point the situation in his mind was hopeless. He had come to accept that while the United States struggled to pull out of the war in Vietnam it was only a matter of time before they would be burying an empty coffin in a grave next to their parents.

Finally it was time to close up the store. Pony tossed his cigarette butt to the ground and stepped on it. He headed back into the store and flipped the sign on the door from open to closed. As he went back to the register he saw that Mark was still glued to the television.

"C'mon, it's time to close up," Pony said with annoyance. He walked over to the television, intending to turn it off himself, not really caring that it was going to piss Mark off.

"No, no, wait," Mark said quickly.

Pony hesitated, taking in the look of surprise on his face. "Why? What happened?"

"We're leaving the war," Mark said in surprise.

Pony rolled his eyes. "Yeah, they've said that before," he pointed out.

"No, it's for real this time," Mark said. "He just said the treaty was already signed today. The last of the troops are comin' home and they're going to be transferring prisoners of war back home too."

Pony's eyes got wide as he turned to look at the television. The president seemed to be at the end of the speech, but he was talking about airplanes heading to Vietnam and the release of the prisoners. Could that really be happening?

Finally they tore themselves away from the television and closed up the store. As Pony headed out to the parking lot he noticed that snow was just beginning to fall. He flipped up the collar of his jacket against the wind as he headed for his car. At the beginning of the school year Steve had managed to fix up one of the old cars that someone abandoned near the gas station, so that Pony and Darry didn't have to share the truck anymore. Pony climbed into the car and managed to start it on the third try.

As Pony drove he felt consumed with his thoughts, remembering very vividly a conversation that he had had with Steve years ago.

_"On the news the other night they were talkin' about prisoners of war," Pony had said. "Do… do you think that that's what coulda happened to Soda? Do you think he could have been captured and he's bein' held prisoner over there?"_

_"What are you doin' watchin' that crap?" Steve had asked, avoiding the actual question. Pony had just shrugged. "It's not likely," he had gone on in a monotone after a long pause. "Soda was only in the army a few months, he was just a Private. The lowest rank. It's not like he had any information or anythin'. There would be no reason to capture him and… and keep him alive. There's nothin' they could gain from him."_

_"Oh," Pony mumbled, unable to keep the disappointment out of his tone. At that moment for the first time he had really started to think that maybe Soda wasn't coming home. That maybe he was really gone forever._

_Steve had studied him for a moment and Pony wasn't sure if he just imagined it but it looked like his eyes softened just a little bit. "Hey, I guess it's possible," he backtracked slowly as he shrugged. "I mean those guys over there, those Vietnamese soldiers, they're pretty jacked up. Maybe they had some reason to take him alive."_

Pony hadn't considered that possibility in a long time. He had especially shied away from it as information started leaking out about the conditions in the Vietnamese prison camps. But now that the prisoners would be coming home Pony couldn't help but wonder… was it possible that his brother could come home too?

It was late when Pony finally pulled up in front of the house. Darry's truck was already in the driveway. On the nights that Pony worked he usually got home hours after Darry. Sometimes Darry would even already be in bed by the time he got home. As he saw the light in the living room still on it seemed like he was probably still up though.

Pony walked up the familiar path and entered the house. What he came upon was not quite what he had been expecting. Not only was Darry still up, but he was standing in the living room with Two-Bit and Steve. It wasn't odd for them to be around but it seemed they had been in the middle of a discussion that had quickly cut off when Pony had walked in.

"Hey, guys," Pony said slowly, looking around at the three a bit unsurely.

"Hey Pony," Darry said, trying a little too hard to sound casual. "How was work?"

"It was fine," Pony said with a shrug. "Real slow today."

"I left some dinner in the kitchen for you," Darry told him.

"Thanks." Pony walked past the group and headed for the kitchen.

He sat at the table and began picking at the semi-warm dinner Darry had left for him. After a minute he glanced up to see Darry standing in the doorway watching him, a pained look on his face.

"What?" Pony finally asked.

Darry moved forward and carefully sat in the seat next to him. Pony immediately got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach as he put his fork down. Was it possible that now that the war was over, at least for the United States, that they had somehow found Soda's body? Or at least somehow been able to confirm that he had been killed?

"Pony…" Darry started, then hesitated.

"Just spit it out, Darry," Pony urged, though not unkindly.

Darry sighed. "They announced that the United States is pulling out of the war in Vietnam."

"Yeah, I knew that," Pony said. "Mark had the television on at work. I guess it's all that was on." There was an awkward silence as Pony looked down, studying the table. Then he looked up again. "I know what you're gonna say. You wanna have a memorial for Soda. But…" He paused as Darry watched him, feeling a little self-conscious. "I just need a little more time, Darry," he finished quietly.

"It's been almost three and a half years, Pony," Darry said gently. "Even Two-Bit and Steve think it might be time. But we won't do it unless we all agree."

Pony took a breath. "I know it's a long shot," he admitted. "And I know it's not likely… but I want to wait until all the prisoners of war are home. They said they were gonna start right away and should have them all back in the next two or three months. After that… well after that I'll know that there are no possibilities left, no matter how unlikely. After that I won't feel so bad for… giving up." He met Darry's eyes. "Please Darry?"

"I think the kid has a point." They turned to see both Steve and Two-Bit standing in the doorway watching the scene. Surprisingly it was Steve who had spoken. "It don't feel right givin' up on him if there's still a chance… even if it's not likely."

Darry sighed. "That makes sense," he admitted. "Okay. We'll wait and see."

Pony gave him a small smile, feeling a bit relieved that this wasn't going to be a fight. He also felt uneasy though as he pushed his dinner away, suddenly finding that he had no appetite. One way or another, this was about to come to an end. Either Soda was coming home… or Pony would be forced to accept that he would never come home again.

_**Vietnam**_

It had been very quiet. The quiet was making Soda uneasy. Usually even when he was in isolation he could still vaguely hear people moving around outside of his cell from time to time. But for the past month other than when his food and water was brought to him there was almost complete silence throughout the complex. It struck Soda as very ominous, like the calm before a storm. He kept himself pushed into the far corner of his cell constantly, not wanting anyone near him, even the soldiers who fed him. At one point a soldier had walked into his cell and Soda had a panic attack before he realized that he was simply placing the bowls closer to him. After what had happened last time he was taken out of his cell he was terrified of what might happen next.

Since Daniels had visited him and convinced him to keep fighting Soda hadn't seen much of anyone except for the guards who brought him food, which seemed to be happening more consistently now for some reason. Soda kept on waiting for something to happen, but days turned into weeks and nothing did.

Soda lay on his side as far away from the door as he could with his back to it. He heard the metal door behind him scrape open and his muscles immediately tensed at the sound. Instead of hearing someone leaving him food he heard two men discussing something. His stomach fell to around his feet. He felt convinced that they were going to take him out of his cell this time and torture him again. He couldn't do this again, he just couldn't. He put his hands over his head and curled in on himself as if he could make himself so small that they would forget he was here.

He felt a presence approaching him and shrank back away from it. Someone was talking to him but he couldn't even comprehend the words, too consumed by the fear of what was about the happen. The presence moved away from him again, but Soda didn't trust that it was actually gone. They were planning something awful for him, he just knew it.

Some more time passed and another presence approached him, taking a gentle hold of his shoulder. Soda tried to resist but he was pulled onto his back and was suddenly looking up into Daniels' face. There was something in his expression that he couldn't recognize and Soda felt confused, unsure why he was in his cell again.

"Curtis? Curtis can you hear me?" Soda realized that Daniels had been saying something to him but he had no idea what it had been. He started listening more carefully. "The war is over. We're going home."

Soda just stared at him. "What?" he said slowly, unable to really comprehend what he meant.

"It's over, Curtis," Daniels said. He smiled a true and genuine smile that looked so out of place here. "We're going home. Today."

Soda let his eyes wander over to the cell door. It was still open and just outside it he could see a few American soldiers standing around with one of the guards. These American soldiers were properly dressed in uniform and did not bare any signs of having been tortured. Could it be true? Were these men here to rescue them? Slowly Soda pushed himself up into a sitting position, wincing slightly. One of the American soldiers cautiously stepped into the cell, looking over at the two of them.

"You said his name is Curtis?" he asked, directing the question at Daniels.

"Yeah," Daniels confirmed.

"Curtis? Can you answer a few questions?" His tone was kind but there was a sense of uneasiness underneath, almost like he was speaking to an injured animal. Soda nodded vaguely, feeling a bit like he was in shock. Perhaps he was dreaming? Maybe this was some kind of hallucination? "What's your full name and rank, son?"

"Private Sodapop Patrick Curtis, sir," Soda croaked.

The man gave him a funny look but didn't say anything about it. He consulted a clipboard in his hand. "We don't have a record of you here," he said after a moment and Soda felt his heart drop.

"W-why not?" Soda stuttered, not quite sure what that meant for him… or for his family. He felt panic bubbling just under the surface. Had they just assumed he was dead? Did they tell Pony and Darry he was dead? Would they just leave him here if they didn't have a record of him?

"We only have records of those we knew for sure were being held here with us," the man assured him. "They will have your records when we get back to base, I'm sure. I just need to confirm a few things before we can release you. When were you captured?"

Soda took a deep breath. "September 3rd," he said slowly. "1969." He paused. "What day is it?"

"February 23rd, 1973," the man informed him.

Soda quickly did the math in his head. Three years and five months later he was finally going home. He could hardly believe it. Somehow he had survived this hell.

He had to answer a few more questions about which unit he had been a part of and the circumstances of his capture. All this seemed like it was from a lifetime ago. He could hardly remember a time when he hadn't been trapped in this place. After they were finished questioning him, Daniels helped him to his feet and led him to the open door of the cell. Soda placed a hand on the doorframe, slowly sliding his feet over the threshold… for the last time. It was the first time he had willingly walked from his cell rather than being dragged, pushed or shoved. It was the first time he had stepped from that room as a free man.

It was such a strange feeling walking out of that cell and not being dragged along. Being able to walk up tall and look around and really take in his surroundings without fear. The place looked pretty mundane at that point.

The rest of the day was a blur. He and Daniels were loaded up into the back of a truck with a handful of other former prisoners of war. They were transported to an American base not far away. Some of the former prisoners needed immediate medical attention due to illness, but most of the physical wounds had already healed up on their own since it seemed that no one had been tortured in the past month. They would find out later that it was because at the end of January the peace accords had been signed and so the Vietnamese soldiers had stopped torturing the prisoners since they were to be released. Much later Soda would also work out that the final torture session he had endured with the car battery had occurred days after the peace accords had already been signed and after prisoners from other camps were already beginning to be released.

Daniels was able to fill him on what happened as they traveled. They were releasing prisoners in reverse order in which they had been captured. When they came to release Daniels he had asked about Soda, worried about him since the last time he had seen him he hadn't been doing so well. They had no record of him but Daniels had insisted that he had been here long enough to be released as well. If it hadn't been for him Soda probably would have been among the last to leave. If he had survived another few weeks.

Thankfully the military was very efficient about getting them back to the United States. They were given showers at the base and clean clothes. Later they would realize that they wanted them to look presentable for the cameras that would be there when they arrived back in America. They were then loaded up onto a C-141 aircraft. Soda stayed close to Daniels throughout this process, feeling shell shocked by this very sudden turn of events. He felt like he couldn't even get his mind around the fact that he really was going home. Somewhere in the back of his mind he still suspected this to be some kind of cruel trick.

It was only the second time he had ever been on an airplane. The first being when they had first sent him over to Vietnam just about four years ago. The takeoff was rough and rattled Soda's nerves as he balled his hands up so tightly his knuckles turned white. As he looked around it was obvious that he wasn't the only one bothered. There were two straps across his chest for a seatbelt and Soda kept tugging at it uncomfortably. He didn't like the restraining feeling it gave him even though he knew logically it was for his safety. The moment the plane began to level out Soda noticed others immediately undoing the seatbelts and he followed suit. There was no way he was going to last for hours with that harness on.

While the plane had taken off everyone had been silent, the only noise was the engine humming outside. Then Soda heard a noise. It took him a minute to be able to identify it. Someone was laughing. A minute later someone let out a happy whoop. The reality of the situation was beginning to sink in to everyone on the plane. The mood was catching. The first whoop was followed by others. In the next minute men were cheering, men who had been away from home for years unsure if they'd ever go back. Soda felt a smile pulling at his lips, a very foreign feeling. Then he couldn't contain himself, letting out a loud whoop of his own, hearing Daniels cheering next to him. Every person on that plane was giddy was relief.

As the plane leveled out high above the Earth Soda settled himself in. He knew that it was going to be a very long flight. He closed his eyes and imagined that he could see the jungles of Vietnam getting farther and farther away. This was it. The pain and torture were over.

He was going home.

* * *

_Calling on St. Christopher_

_Gonna need some help tonight_

_For the long, dark road ahead_

_On my way back to the light_

_'Cause the path is so unclear_

_And I'm not sure who to be_

_All I know is I can't stay here_

_Won't you please watch over me?_

_'Cause I'm on my way_

_- Michael Logen – St. Christopher (On My Way)_


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:** Here we go! Final chapter! I hope you like it and please don't forget to review.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

Overwhelmed was a very mild way to describe how Soda felt. All this was happening so suddenly. He had hoped for so long to go home, but after so much time he had stopped believing it would actually happen. But now here he was, on an airplane with other released prisoners of war and the landing gears had just touched down on American soil.

They were told they would be called one at time to disembark the plane. Daniels was the very first. As he walked away and disappeared out the door of the plane Soda found himself fidgeting uneasily. He couldn't help but think back to all the cruel tricks played on them throughout the years. Being placed in front of a firing squad only to find that it was a joke and the guns weren't even loaded. Promises of release in exchange for cooperation, but release never came. Could this be another trick, albeit an elaborate one? Clearly three and a half years of captivity had caused some trust issues…

Over half of the men on the plane were called before Soda finally heard his name. He took in a steadying breath as he pulled himself to his feet. As he stepped out of the plane he was momentarily blinded by the bright light. He paused and blinked for a moment. Then he looked down as he slowly descended the stairs, watching his footing carefully. He gripped the railing for balance, feeling a bit unsteady on the steep staircase that led down to the ground. Even just walking down a flight of stairs felt foreign to him.

As he crossed an open space on the runway in order to shake hands with the man in military uniform – he had no idea who this man was or why he was important – he glimpsed a news camera a little ways away. He wondered vaguely if they were showing this on the news. He wondered vaguely if his brothers were watching him. His heart skipped a beat at the thought, causing his chest to ache momentarily.

Soda shook the hand of the man in front of him and then moved away as quickly as he could. He didn't like being the center of attention. Unfortunately as soon as he walked away he was suddenly surrounded by people. Microphones and cameras were being shoved in his face. It suddenly became hard for him to breath and everything inside of his was screaming to run. He ducked his head and just kept walking, trying to block out all the overwhelming noises. In his haste he shoved one of the reporters pretty hard away from him, vaguely aware of the guy stumbling away looking surprised.

"Curtis!" Soda looked up and was relieved to see Daniels coming over from where the group of ex-prisoners of war all stood. Daniels pulled him out of the group of reporters. "Vultures," he mumbled darkly as they walked away. Soda's heart was pounding and he was shaking. His knees felt weak and he was afraid he might collapse. It was all just too much to take in. He clung on to Daniels in order to keep himself on his feet. "Hey, it's okay now, Curtis."

Soda took in a steadying breath. Slowly, painfully slowly, he started to calm down. As he looked around at the men around him he saw he wasn't the only one who looked tense. That was a small relief anyway. Daniels had seemed so calm and put together, but at least Soda wasn't the only one who seemed… unstable.

As all of the men finally disembarked the plane they were all transported to a nearby military base. This was disappointing to Soda. Now that he was back in the country all he wanted to do was go home. He was so sick of anything to do with the military. Apparently it wasn't going to be that simple though. They each had to meet with military officers to find out what was going to happen next.

Soda sat in the office of Sergeant Michaels. He shifted uncomfortably as the sergeant read a file in front of him. He kept on glancing at the closed door of the office, trying to remind himself over and over that the door wasn't locked.

"Private Curtis?"

Soda snapped his gaze back to Sergeant Michaels. He sat on the edge of his chair, not wanting to lean back after being tied to a chair just like this one not long ago. "Yes, sir?"

"How old are you, son?"

It was the most common question Soda had gotten over the years. The answer didn't come to him naturally anymore though. Time had been very hard to keep track of and he hadn't really thought of his birthday in years. He paused and thought for a minute. He knew he had turned nineteen while in the first prison camp, just a month after he had been captured. That was in 1969. It was now 1973.

Soda guessed that his hesitation had gone on for an uncomfortable amount of time as he took in the look on the sergeant's face. "Twenty-two, sir," he finally responded, though he sounded a bit unsure.

"So you were captured when you were…" He let the thought hang, looking at Soda expectantly.

"Eighteen," Soda answered.

The sergeant swore and Soda gave a start at the sudden anger, wondering if he had said something wrong. He couldn't help but tense and clench his fists at his sides as if the man was about to strike him. He made no move toward Soda though.

"I've never seen them take someone so young," he said, looking at Soda carefully. Soda was silent and didn't meet the sergeant's eyes as he stared blankly straight ahead. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to that anyway. After a moment of silence the man seemed to let the thought drop. "Well here's what we can do for you. We can have you stay here for a few weeks in order to go through psychological and medical evaluation to help you adjust back to civilian life."

Suddenly Soda felt sick to his stomach. He had just escaped captivity, hadn't he? And they wanted to keep him here? He was quiet for several minutes before he noticed that Sergeant Michaels was looking at him expectantly. Slowly an idea was dawning on him. He seemed to be waiting for a response… did that mean that Soda had a choice?

Carefully Soda shook his head, halfway expecting some kind of repercussion from the action. "No," he said. His voice was quiet and a little unsure. There was no question in what he said next though. "I want to go home."

"Are you sure?" Sergeant Michaels asked, sounding skeptical. "Adjusting back to civilian life after so many years of captivity can be hard to do on your own."

Soda didn't hesitate. "I want to go home," he repeated steadily. There was nothing he had ever wanted more in his entire life. He was so close and he wouldn't put it off so long.

Sergeant Michaels nodded. "Alright," he agreed. "Where do you need to go?"

"Tulsa, Oklahoma," Soda told him.

Sergeant Michaels nodded. "We need you to stay until Friday for debriefing as well as medical exams," he informed him. "I can get you a commercial plane ticket for as early as Saturday morning though."

Soda paused. He had never been on a commercial flight before. He thought of the flight here. It had been a military plane so it hadn't been very crowded and they hadn't been strict about making them keep their seatbelts on all things considered. Also the takeoff and landing had been rough on his nerves and had put him on edge, but he hadn't been the only one. Going through that packed in among civilian strangers… that didn't sound very appealing to him.

Again, Soda had to remind himself that perhaps he had some control with this. "I… I would rather take a bus," he said slowly.

Sergeant Michaels raised a skeptical eyebrow and for a moment Soda was afraid he would refuse him. "Alright," he agreed.

Soda waited while the sergeant made a phone call to the bus depot to get his ticket. When he hung up he told him that he had a ticket for Saturday morning and would arrive in Tulsa at ten in the morning on Sunday. Soda nodded. It wasn't ideal… but it would have to do.

After he was dismissed Soda slowly stood up but then stopped, realizing something. "What day is it?" he asked. It had been a very long time since he had kept track of days of the week.

"It's Wednesday," Sergeant Michaels told him.

Soda nodded. Saturday wasn't so far away then.

As Soda walked out of the office his very next order of business was to find a phone. Clearly he wasn't the only one with that idea. Once he finally found an area with public phones he found that there was a long line. He took a deep breath as he did his best to wait patiently for his turn. It was so difficult though. He had dreamed of his brothers' voices and their faces for countless nights over the past few years. And now hearing them again was finally within his reach. It was an intensely overwhelming feeling, but he wanted nothing more in the world than to just be with his brothers again. And now he was one step closer.

Soda finally stepped up to the telephone, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. He picked up the receiver and then froze, just staring. It had been four years since he had heard either of his brothers' voices. It had been three and a half years since he had gotten even a letter from home. Suddenly he felt panicked. What if they had moved? What if they didn't have the same phone number? How would he ever find them? What would he do if he couldn't find them? Did they even know he was back in the same country as them? He had no idea.

"You okay, son?"

Soda turned to look at the man standing behind him, waiting for his turn to use the phone to call loved ones after being locked up for years. He seemed surprisingly patient and at ease.

"Yeah, sorry, I…" His voice trailed off, unsure how to explain himself.

"Do you have someone to call?" the man behind him asked slowly, looking sympathetic.

"Yeah, I… I think so," Soda said, his voice sounding unsteady even to himself.

"Take your time," the man said with a light smile. "It's a big day. Don't rush it."

Soda nodded. He turned back to the phone and took a deep breath. He leaned heavily on the counter, his legs feeling tired from waiting in line. Finally he reached out and punched in the familiar number, coming to him naturally even after being away for so long. As he listened to the ringing he felt his throat go dry with anxiety. Only a few rings had gone by when someone picked up.

"Hello?" Soda closed his eyes at the sound, his knees almost giving out as he leaned heavily on the counter in front of him. He propped one elbow up on the counter with his hand resting on his forehead as he leaned on it while his other hand gripped the receiver. It took him a moment to even find his voice.

"Ponyboy?" he croaked, hardly believing he was actually talking to his brother after all this time.

"Soda!" came Pony excited voice.

Soda kept his eyes closed but he couldn't help but smile. "Hey, Ponyboy." He could hear the way his voice shook and he could feel tears welling up behind his eyes. He swallowed. "How you been?"

"I've been fine," Pony said with a nervous laugh. "How are you? Are you okay? We saw you on TV today when you were gettin' off the plane. Gosh, it was so good to see you!"

Soda bit back on his tears as he coughed a laugh. The sound was foreign to him. He finally opened his eyes, relieved to find that at least for now this didn't appear to be a dream. "Yeah, I'm fine, Pony," he said. "I'll be seein' you real soon." The weight of that statement hit him hard. There was more truth to it than ever. He really was going home.

"Oh Soda, I've missed you so much." Soda could clearly hear the tears behind Pony's tone and he ached to be able to put his arms around him and assure him that everything was okay now.

"I've missed you too," Soda said earnestly. He glanced behind him at the line of men still waiting to use the phone. He had so many questions but he felt guilty taking up so much time. All the questions would have to wait. "Listen, I don't got a lot of time, there's a line for the phone. Can I talk to Darry for a minute?"

"Yeah sure," Pony said immediately, and Soda felt relieved that Darry was there too and not working tonight. "I can't wait to see you."

"I can't wait to see you too, kiddo."

Soda listened to the silence and then the slight rustling as the phone was passed off.

"Soda?" It was Darry's voice this time. He sounded desperate as he said his brother's name, and in that one word Soda could hear all the pain that his big brother had been in for the past three and a half years. It was so much to take in, finally talking to his brothers, and Soda suddenly felt short of breath.

"Hey Darry," he said, laughing slightly as he said it, though he didn't really know why.

"Glory, Soda, it's so good to hear from you," Darry said, relief in his voice.

"You have no idea," Soda said, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"Where are you now? Still in Washington?"

"Yeah," Soda confirmed.

"When are you comin' home?" Darry asked.

Soda sighed lightly. "Not for another couple days," he said, allowing his tone to fall slightly. He hated having to put it off. "They want us to stay for debriefing and some medical exams and stuff until Friday. But I already talked to someone about traveling. I got a bus ticket for Saturday mornin' that'll get into Tulsa at ten in the morning on Sunday. It's the quickest I could get there." He refrained from mentioning the plane ticket that was offered to him. He knew a plane would get him there faster but the thought of being stuck in such a cramped space as a commercial flight was too much for him to handle.

"Are you okay to travel like that right now?" Darry asked slowly. "You know, we could drive out and get you if you want. We could be there by Friday."

The thought was tempting and he hesitated as he considered it. "No, that's okay," he said against his better judgment. He didn't want to ask that of his brothers right now, thinking about the cost of gas and the time out of work. From Tulsa to Washington DC it had to be about eighteen to nineteen hours. He didn't want to ask that of them. After all this time away he didn't want to come back to them and be a burden. Surely after everything he had been through he could handle a bus ride on his own.

"Alright," Darry said a bit reluctantly.

Soda glanced at the line behind him again, knowing that he had to wrap this up. There was one question that couldn't wait though. "Darry…" He hesitated, afraid of the answer he was going to get. "Did… did Steve make it back okay? From the war?"

"Yeah, he did," Darry said immediately and Soda felt relief wash over him. "Steve's fine, he's standing right here."

"Good," Soda sighed. "Look, I gotta go. But tell him that I missed him. Two-Bit too."

"I will," Darry promised. "You have a safe trip, little buddy. We'll see you soon."

"Yeah, I'll see you guys soon," Soda said, reluctant to hang up. He heard the click of the line going dead but he found it difficult to loosen his grip on the receiver. Finally he lowered the receiver, placing it back in the cradle and forcing his fingers to unclench from around it. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, all his muscles tensed, but suddenly someone was leading him away.

"Here, sit down." Soda obeyed almost without even considering the fact that he had a choice not to. He was used to taking orders. He looked up to find that it was the man that had been in line behind him standing over him. "You okay?"

Soda nodded vaguely. "I… think so."

"How long has it been?" the man asked carefully.

Soda didn't need to ask for clarification. "Three and a half years since I was captured," he said flatly, staring down at his hands. "Almost four years since I left home."

"Damn," the man said. He shook his head. "You're too young for that."

Soda only nodded vaguely. He had become very aware of how much younger he was than any of the other freed prisoners he had seen. He rested his head in his hands, feeling overwhelmed. It wasn't like he could just go home and pretend none of this ever happened. He wasn't the same person he had been when he left. He was so afraid to go home and somehow find that he no longer fit in to the life he left behind. He thought that if he could just survive being a prisoner everything would be okay. But what was the definition of surviving? Had he really survived if he lost who he had been when he left?

He had to go home though. He had to at least try. After several minutes he finally managed to collect himself as he slowly stood up. He walked through the hallways, reveling in the fact that he was not contained for the first time in years. It didn't take him long to find who he was looking for.

"Hey, Curtis," Daniels said. He was sitting around with a few of the other released prisoners. He glanced at him and seemed to realize that something was off. He stood and walked over to him. "You holding up okay, son?"

Soda looked up at him. He was quiet for a minute, unsure what to say. "I talked to my brothers," he said.

Daniels smiled. "That's good," he said. "I bet they were glad to hear from you."

Soda nodded, letting a ghost of a smile cross his lips as he remembered their reactions. "Yeah they were." He paused. "I told them that I was gonna be home on Sunday."

Daniels nodded knowingly. "Yeah, I didn't want to stick around for that psych stuff either. I just wanna get home."

Soda was glad he wasn't the only one with that train of thought. "I just… I've changed. Maybe they won't want me back the way I am now." _They've been living their lives for the past four years, _he realized, _while mine has been almost destroyed._

Daniels looked at him seriously. "They are you family. If they're anything like you've told me then they are going to be there for you no matter what."

"Yeah," Soda said. Deep down he knew Daniels was right. But he still couldn't stop this nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Daniels studied him for a moment. "Hang on," he said. He walked away to a nearby table with a pad and pen on it. He scribbled something down on the top piece of paper and then ripped it off the pad as he walked back over to where Soda stood. He handed it to him. "My phone number back home. You call it anytime, okay?"

Soda took the paper and tucked it safely into his pocket, feeling indescribably grateful. "Thank you," he said sincerely.

"It's not gonna be easy, Curtis," Daniels said, shoving his hands in his pockets. As Soda met his eyes he could see his own pain reflected in them. Even though Daniels appeared calm and well-adjusted, it was clear that deep down everything that had happened had effected him as well. It seemed that he was just better at hiding it. "But now the healing can begin."

_**The End**_

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**Author's Note:**Well, that's it, that's all I've got! Haha, I'm just kidding, that would be a horrible cliffhanger if I weren't planning on continuing! If you haven't already read the one shot that I wrote before this called _Days Slide and the Years Go By_ that is your next task. It overlaps with this chapter and gives the gang's point of view on Soda's return as well as has the big reunion scene (it's basically set up to be the next chapter of this story). Also for those interested I am currently working on a sequel to this, focusing on Soda's adjustment to being home and such. I hope to start posting it within the next week or so and I'm planning for it to be more novel length with more of a linear plot than this story. I hope you'll check it out! Thanks for all your support with this story!


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